


Sweet Dreams

by Reyanth



Series: Sweet Dreams [1]
Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody wants a piece of Fuji; what they really want is the whole, but even Fuji doesn't have that. Can Tezuka gather the pieces and put them back together or will Atobe and Yukimura tear them to shreds, first?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Dreams Are Made of These

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't written to be a "comfortable" read, particularly in early chapters. Not for those who can't handle their angst.

Atobe liked to tie him up while Yukimura was more interested in slowly inflicting pain. Kirihara, on those rare occasions, was simply rough.

To Fuji, it was more than satisfactory as an arrangement. Well, it couldn’t really be called an arrangement since the only one he’d ‘arranged’ anything with was himself. 

Both Yukimura and Atobe separately thought they and Fuji were dating; exclusively, but secretly. Kirihara… Well, Kirihara just stopped by to play sometimes, although Fuji suspected he knew about the tensai’s relationship with Yukimura at least.

It was tiring, and sometimes Fuji could barely stand, though he was unable to let onto the fact during those longs days of practice morning and afternoon with school in between. Some days he simply skipped school because he was too hurt to attend. Those were the days he visited Saeki in Chiba to be taken care of, worried over, scolded, and cuddled. 

Then he would return to Tokyo to receive a verbal lashing from Tezuka. Which he regretted.

He’d much prefer that Tezuka’s punishment involved an actual whip.

The problem was, while Fuji engaged in sex and ‘play’ with his two lovers and one casual partner, the one he longed for was Tezuka. He thought about Tezuka constantly. He dreamed about Tezuka. He want nothing more than for Tezuka to tie him up, drag a knife across his skin and then fuck him till he bled.

Tezuka, of course, would never do any such thing.

Tezuka was a model student, captain, and friend. He was stern, but kind. He was… moral. And damn it all to hell, but he was probably even straight.

So Fuji persisted to juggle his relationships, all the while wanting someone he could not have.

*

Atobe smiled as Fuji writhed, though not a sound escaped the tensai’s lips, even as the usually fine rope chaffed his wrists. Atobe had ordered him to be silent, and so far he had succeeded. Well, they’d see how long that would last for.

With a sadistic smile, Atobe seductively slipped a rubber ring over the tensai’s rigidly erect cock. Fuji’s eyes widened in shock.

Slowly, Atobe dragged himself up Fuji’s body, making sure to cause as much friction as possible.

“Remember,” he whispered, his voice full with lust and a touch gravelly. “Not a sound,” he breathed as he ground hard into Fuji.

The tensai’s neck snapped back, mouth fully open, and his back arched off the bed. Still, he didn’t make a sound, and Atobe growled, incredibly turned on. Part of him wanted nothing more than to torture Fuji like this for hours, but part of him wanted desperately for the tensai to fuck up and his sexy, familiar voice to cry out in pleasure and frustration.

Perhaps that was why he hurried things along. 

Oh, he spent long enough licking Fuji’s cock and playing with his full, round balls, and he made sure the tensai was suitably prepared, but he couldn’t deny rushing the foreplay. He knew without a doubt that he could make Fuji scream once he was inside that incredible body.

He was right, but it took longer than he thought. Fuji barely reacted as he buried himself in that tight cavern, though a sheen of sweat soon covered the tensai’s shivering skin. As he began to pump in and out, Fuji’s mouth fell open, his breath coming unevenly. Atobe tried something a little different, and bit Fuji’s nipple, causing the tensai’s body to convulse, though he heard no verbal sound.

It wasn’t until Atobe had himself and Fuji firmly braced, his arms strongly holding the tensai in place, and he began to drill furiously, that the first squeak left Fuji’s throat. After that, a steady stream of sound built up to ecstatic screams that Fuji probably couldn’t stop if he tried, and the incredible sounds actually caused Atobe to become so hard he wasn’t sure if he could cum at all.

But he did. Hard. 

In the midst of his orgasm, he wondered why Fuji had stopped screaming instead of growing louder before he realized the tensai still wore a rather effective cock ring. Somehow, he managed to blindly find Fuji’s erection and remove the ring, causing the tensai to orgasm instantly with a piercing cry, adding another wave of pleasure to Atobe’s already vast release.

The two collapsed, slippery skin coated in sweat and semen. Neither of them regained their breath for at least five minutes.

Finally, Atobe remembered to release Fuji's hands which were firmly fastened to the bedpost by a bondage rope that looked more like a piece of string. Damn, but Fuji was strong for someone so skinny.

As the tensai’s hands flopped bonelessly, Atobe kissed him hard, his tongue delving between tired lips that were barely able to open. Then, he flopped down himself, taking one of Fuji’s wrists and rubbing it to aid the circulation. He frowned, feeling the familiar scars that adorned most of Fuji’s body. It wasn’t until he took the second wrist, however, that he commented, feeling a long, fresh scar still with beads of dried blood.

“I don’t like it, you know. You belong to me, and I won’t have you dying carelessly,” he said.

What he really wanted to say was that he loved Fuji and he was terrified the tensai would kill himself whether intentionally or accidentally. He was concerned for Fuji’s mental health, and frustrated that nothing he seemed to do or say made any difference, especially considering their particular brand of sexual exploration.

“I won’t die,” Fuji replied, his body shifting closer to Atobe though they were already touching. “I’m careful,” he added belatedly.

Atobe looked away, though he couldn’t shake the warm feel of Fuji’s skin below him, scarred though it was. 

“I just…”

“Kiss me,” Fuji breathed.

Only a touch reluctantly, Atobe did exactly that. Still, he whispered to Fuji as the kiss parted:

“I hate it. Your skin is too beautiful to scar.”

*

“Your skin is so beautiful to scar,” Yukimura hummed, his body covering Fuji’s as he drew his blade in a slow, thin line beneath Fuji’s chin.

The tensai lay deathly still, barely breathing. He was sweating in fear, adrenaline, and anticipation, though his cock was rock hard.

As the knife reached the center of Fuji’s neck, Yukimura had to change his grip, causing the tip to poke dangerously at Fuji’s throat. Then, it proceeded on its way.

Before it would reach a point where it could be easily seen, Yukimura paused, the knife tip pointing straight in to Fuji’s neck. He swiveled it on the spot, knowing the slight curve in the blade scraping at Fuji’s already broken skin was probably quite painful.

His eyes finally left the knife to see tears trickling from Fuji’s tightly closed eyes, into his hair, and onto the mattress. The tensai looked simply stunning.

“Careful,” he whimpered, the word mumbled due to Fuji’s reluctance to speak with a blade sticking into his neck.

It was a funny thing to say, under the circumstances, but Yukimura knew what he meant. He didn’t want a scar that would be easily noticeable. Unfortunately, Yukimura wasn’t allowed to leave scars where other people could see them. That’s why he was particularly enjoying this little exploration under Fuji’s chin. It was an exposed area, but one that was difficult to see. As long as he was precise and Fuji was careful, no one would ever notice the thin scar hiding under there.

Reluctantly, he stopped twirling the blade.

“Of course,” he muttered, kissing Fuji gently, even as his thumb smeared the streak of blood that was welling up, the tennis-calloused pad rubbing painfully over the wound.

A strangled noise sounded into the gentle kiss, and Yukimura pressed harder. Another sound, and then Fuji broke the kiss with a hiss of pain.

Yukimura didn’t like having his kisses broken. No he did not.

In moments, he was straddling Fuji’s shoulders, the slightly wet tip of his erection pressed against the tensai’s lips. “Do be thorough,” he cautioned, supporting Fuji’s neck as he shoved his thin cock into the boy’s mouth.

As much as they tested each others limits, mostly on Yukimura’s part, he would never hurt Fuji… in a bad way. Though the tensai gagged at first, Yukimura knew him well enough to know how much he could take—and also that he thoroughly enjoyed choking on Yukimura's erection.

Frankly, Fuji was a masochistic slut, and Yukimura was damned lucky to have the tensai as his own. He remembered that as he braced himself on the wall and began pumping his length down Fuji’s throat. It wasn’t long before he came, his head thrown back emitting a loud moan as he continued to fuck the gagging tensai’s mouth.

Before his trembling stopped, his still spurting penis dragged over Fuji’s lips, and he sat on the tensai’s chest, his upper body leaning heavily on the headrest. Fuji spluttered and gagged, though a moan could be heard among those sounds.

He looked down through mostly closed eyes, and though his cock didn’t reawaken right away, he couldn’t help but be turned on by the sight of Fuji’s dangerous blue eyes staring up at him, sperm coating the tensai’s swollen red lips even as a thin coat of blood smeared his chin and neck.

Planting his hands on either side of Fuji’s head, and then sliding his body down, Yukimura first licked away that blood and then kissed Fuji deeply. Meanwhile, he was, himself, stained with blood that had lined Fuji’s chest in a chaotic pattern from wounds freshly reopened that night.

“Since you’ve been so patient…”

Though he was slightly exhausted, Yukimura prepared himself, staring down into Fuji’s beautiful, pain glazed eyes as he worked his own fingers in and out of his ass. He almost got carried away, beginning to ride his own hand, but he remembered that he’d been the one having fun cutting Fuji up all night, so it was about time his lover got something in return—not that he didn’t enjoy Yukimura’s games…

He eased himself off his fingers, and then onto Fuji’s cock. His hand closed over the handle of the knife, but even as he slowly lowered himself with Fuji’s erection jabbing into him, he stretched over to place it on the edge of the table. He wouldn’t need that for a while.

Dangerous objects dealt with, he braced himself on Fuji’s chest, lowering himself the last couple of inches. Once he was there, he paused, a slightly frightening smile gracing his lips a moment before he tensed his fingers, nails scratching and digging into the reopened cuts. Fuji screamed, and the sound inspired Yukimura to rise, roughly lowering himself with the aid of gravity. 

As he rode the tensai, the impact of his downward plunges caused his nails to scrape the wounds and Fuji writhed in a combination of both vast pain and pleasure. His fingers dug into the sheets and mattress. His head tossed, hair tangling and flying about. His toes curled.

Yukimura loved that mixed expression of agony and ecstasy. Completely hard again, he almost gently removed his fingers from Fuji’s wounds and moved them to somewhere they wouldn’t cause too much pain whilst he continued to drive himself down upon Fuji’s cock. 

The pace raced. Before long, he was seeing stars.

Next thing he knew, Fuji was over him, growling and pounding him hard until they both came, screaming. Yukimura’s teeth sunk into Fuji’s earlobe as his nails dug into the tensai’s ass.

*

Kirihara’s hand brushed over the crescent moon marks on Fuji’s ass as he spread the tensai’s cheeks. Those were probably Yukimura’s doing.

Oh, if only Kirihara’s beloved captain knew his ace had Fuji pinned up against a wall right now… Oh well. What Yukimura didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. Kirihara, that was. 

If there was anything he had learned from his few brief flings with Fuji, it was that Yukimura was apparently very violent in bed. Of course, the violence was only to be expected under that sweet, graceful mask. At least, Kirihara thought so.

That musing served to entertain him until he’d eased the head of his cock into Fuji’s ass. Then, playtime was over. 

He thrust all the way in, hard, his body pinning the tensai to the wall. Both hands braced on the brick, he began to do Fuji fast and hard, growls falling steadily from his lips, his hair falling in his face.

Meanwhile, Fuji whimpered and cried out, and the vulnerable sounds only fueled Kirihara’s lust, causing him to drive in even more harshly. His balls slapped Fuji’s ass; his momentum caused the tensai’s knees to rock and buckle.

Soon, he had to wrap an arm around Fuji’s waist to hold him up, but as the pleasure built, Fuji’s weight grew heavier on him and the tensai twisted and arched. They fell to the ground, Kirihara still buried deeply as he began to hammer Fuji into the concrete, his own body stretched like a cat as Fuji simply lay there and moaned and twitched until Kirihara came, his own orgasm setting off the tensai’s.

He collapsed over Fuji’s scarred back, panting heavily. When he gathered the energy to pull out, he discovered that Fuji had blacked out. 

Flopping onto his ass, Kirihara rested one hand on the tensai’s back, staring at messy, sweaty hair. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to kiss Fuji sweetly after tearing him open like that. He imagined that a tired but loving kiss from Fuji would be… nice, to say the least.

Before he could even think twice about something stupid like that, he pushed himself to his feet and got dressed. When he was done, he nudged Fuji in the ribs with his foot.

“You’d better get dressed and get out of here,” he warned. “Unless you want someone to find you looking like a used boy scout.”

With those cruel words, he left, vaguely wondering if Fuji had even been conscious enough to hear. 

It was something that he tried not to think about as he waited outside the toilet block, leaning against the far wall. He’d just stay and keep an eye on the area until Fuji left. It wouldn’t be too good for him, after all, if word got back to Yukimura that his precious Fuji had been found unconscious and sexually abused by someone that wasn’t the Rikkaidai captain.

*

Saeki turned white.

“You were with all three of them? Within 36 hours?”

He incredulously studied Fuji’s exhausted and agonized face. Just how had Fuji even made it all the way to Chiba let alone out of bed? Then again, knowing how things usually were with Kirihara, he doubted Fuji had even been in a bed.

“I’m okay,” Fuji assured him. “I just need to rest up a bit. I’m-”

“You look like shit, you moron,” Saeki snapped, tears welling up in his eyes at the truth of his words. 

“Thanks,” Fuji huffed as he was gently lowered to Saeki’s bed.

He’d just confessed the happenings of the last couple of days during a painful but necessary shower where Saeki embarrassed the hell out of him. Saeki washed him, tended to him, and even dressed him, then carried him up to the bedroom.

Sitting on the edge of his own bed, Saeki sighed and brushed back Fuji’s slightly damp hair. “Did you come straight here?” he asked.

Fuji nodded. 

“Didn’t want to risk running into Tezuka, eh?” Saeki prompted, though his voice was devoid of humor.

“Didn’t want to run into anyone,” Fuji said truthfully, though the blush and his inability to look Saeki in the eyes added credence to his dodging of the question.

“One of these days, I might just send you packing,” Saeki emptily threatened, even as he leaned down and kissed Fuji’s forehead.

The tensai’s hand lifted and slim, calloused fingers slid up into his hair, urging his lips lower into a soft, slightly tired kiss.

“Thank you,” Fuji breathed. “You’re a good friend,” he said, moments before he drifted into sleep.

“Yeah, I am,” Saeki answered quietly.

First he wondered why he did this. Then he reminded himself that he already knew exactly why and the answer never changed no matter how many times he asked. He then sighed and pushed his own hair off his face, wishing for the millionth time that he could do something about Fuji’s masochism before it got too late.

The question was, when was too late?

*

Tezuka was not happy when Fuji missed two consecutive days of practice and school. He was less happy when he rang the Fuji household and learned that Fuji had called saying that he was in Chiba. 

His good humor did not improve when it was mentioned that Atobe Keigo had also called asking after Fuji.

The thing was, Tezuka didn’t like Atobe. The captain of Hyoutei was a harsh rival, and was known to be merciless, pushing his opponents past their limits and be it on them if he caused serious injury. If there was anything Tezuka hated, it was a bully who used tennis to hurt others.

However, that wasn’t why he disliked Atobe. The real reason was that he knew the rival captain was after Fuji. Frankly, Tezuka would rather die than see Atobe get his greedy, spoiled hands on Seigaku’s tensai.

And Atobe’s weren’t the only eyes Tezuka had seen focused on his friend and teammate. There was also the Rikkaidai captain, Yukimura.

Those two always seemed to pop up in matters concerning Fuji, and every time Tezuka heard either of their names, he felt less and less comfortable.

He knew he took his frustration out on Fuji sometimes, and he’d probably do it again once the tensai decided he would be bothered to return to school. And well Tezuka should. He was Fuji’s captain. It was his job to both protect and push the tensai and he would do exactly that.

There would be laps. Lots of laps.

And then, maybe after the laps… just maybe there would be an invitation for coffee.

*

Fuji’s body had not completely recovered but he knew that if he did not return to school, Tezuka’s punishment would be far worse. So he endured the laps. He endured the push-ups. He endured even the sadistic punishment [necessary boost due to lack of training] of Inui’s latest foul mixture of Aozu.

He endured it, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that Tezuka seemed cold towards him. He didn’t like that all he’d done was miss two days of school and he was being punished beyond belief. He didn’t like that he wanted to just blurt out, with lots of angry crying, that he was tired, and in pain, and that he’d be dead by now if he had come to training after the abuse he’d taken from his lovers.

He didn’t like it at all.

Naturally, he was in a foul mood when he changed in his dimly lit corner of the locker room, hiding his scarred body as much as possible, though it was common practice for no one to look at any of the others.

Despite his seemingly genuinely bright, cheerful smile, he wanted nothing more than to slam his tennis bag up against the wall, or go straight to Kirihara for a hard fuck. Instead, he pulled on his school uniform and lifted his bag onto his shoulder.

“Fuji.”

“Yes?” Fuji asked, his voice light, though he was facing away from Tezuka and a grimace had crossed his face at the sound of his name.

“May I speak to you?” 

“Of course.”

Turning, Fuji followed the captain outside towards the tennis court, though they stopped by the gate. He wore an odd expression but Fuji hardly cared why. He just wanted to go to class so he could sleep already.

“I’m sorry if I was a little hard on you this morning,” Tezuka began. The words already melted a touch of Fuji’s bitterness. “Would you like to come out for coffee at lunch time to make up for it? I’ll pay.”

Fuji’s brain creaked to a standstill. All the cogs just stopped turning at once with an enormous groan.

Was that… Tezuka’s version of asking him out on a date?

Of course not.

Angry at himself, and at Tezuka for getting his hopes up, and at himself for having reason to get his hopes up when he knew that even if Tezuka was interested in him there was no way he could ever even let Tezuka touch his skin let alone see him naked etc., etc., etc… He declined as he turned, walking away.

“You don’t need to that. It was fair punishment,” he lied.

“Fuji.”

Fuji froze, ice splintering his spine as Tezuka grabbed his wrist. If his school jacket slipped up just a touch, then Tezuka’s thumb would touch that nasty scar where he’d started to commit suicide last month before Kirihara found him in the public toilets…

His jacket didn’t move. Tezuka didn’t recoil in horror and disgust.

“Yes?” he asked dryly, his voice creaking slightly.

“I want to. Take you out for coffee,” Tezuka explained awkwardly.

“Okay,” Fuji agreed. 

He was simultaneously thrilled by the invitation and terrified by its implications. He flashed a small smile at Tezuka, though he was still immobilized by fear that his masochistic nature would be revealed any second.

Tezuka smiled back, oblivious to Fuji’s panic. It was the first time Fuji had ever seen his captain smile, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart beat a little faster.

“Meet me at the school gates once you’re let out, then,” Tezuka told him.

A moment later, he released Fuji’s wrist, then turned and walked away.


	2. Who am I to Disagree?

“Fujiko! You’re alive!” Eiji cried as Fuji wandered in three minutes before class.

“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” Fuji replied as obligated, catching the flying Eiji though he was extremely weary.

Eiji pouted. “Tezuka was really mean to you this morning,” he complained.

Despite himself, Fuji laughed. “He wasn’t being mean, Eiji. I skipped practice for two days,” he said as he moved toward his seat.

When he looked back, Eiji seemed concerned. “I know,” he said. “Fuji-”

“Good morning, class. Take your seats, please,” their teacher, Mr. Morioka, greeted as he shuffled into the room carrying a couple of heavy-looking text books as well as his usual briefcase.

Fuji, relieved at the interruption, stood behind his desk, waiting for the order to bow and sit. He was barely in his seat when he started to drift off, his tired body begging his brain for rest.

*

“Fuji-san. Fuji-san!”

Fuji was aware of someone shaking him, but he couldn’t be bothered to respond. He really couldn’t… shit. He was in class.

Blearily, he dragged himself up, blinking into the concerned eyes of his teacher. 

“If you haven’t recovered from your illness then you shouldn’t have returned to school yet.”

“I’m-” ‘not ill’ was what Fuji had been about to say. “-just a little exhausted,” he finished. “I probably shouldn’t have gone to practice this morning.”

Eiji was fluttering about looking terribly worried. “Tezuka-buchou made him do a whole lot of laps.”

“Eiji, I’m fine,” Fuji sighed. He really didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted to sleep so he could go to lunch with Tezuka. “Sensei,” he began. “I don’t want to miss any more school, so if you just let me rest my head, I promise to listen and stay awake.”

He was already sagging toward the desk. Frankly, it didn’t seem like such an unreasonable request. However, Mr. Morioka apparently disagreed. 

“I’m sorry, Fuji-san, but you should go to the infirmary.” He grabbed Fuji’s wrist, which was quite against school protocol, but he was probably alarmed by Fuji’s condition. 

Unfortunately, Fuji wasn’t quite awake enough to remember why people weren’t supposed to touch his wrists, and only when the teacher froze did a shock of adrenaline cause Fuji to shoot up in his seat, meeting his teacher’s eyes with a feeling of horror.

Mr. Morioka’s fingers twitched a little, scoping out the scar, though he didn’t otherwise give away that he’d noticed anything out of the ordinary. He stared into Fuji’s eyes for several long seconds and then dropped his wrist. “Very well. Lie down. But I want to speak to you after class.”

“M-maybe I should go to the infirmary after all,” Fuji babbled quickly, disgusted with himself for being so lax.

“No, you’re right. You’ve missed enough class as it is. Try and stay awake,” the teacher told him before turning his back and ending the conversation.

Fuji gathered his wits enough to cast Eiji a slightly wavering smile before he let his head fall to the desk. He stared out the window at the beautiful day outside, his mind going inexplicably blank. He wanted to cry.

Instead, he closed his eyes and went straight to sleep. He’d deal with the consequences when he could think straight.

*

Tezuka waited at the gates but Fuji didn’t arrive. He thought at first that maybe Fuji was late but after fifteen minutes, it didn’t feel like the tensai was coming. A little hurt and feeling as though he’d been stood up, Tezuka headed back into the school to see if he could find Fuji.

Instead, he ran into Kikumaru. “Have you seen Fuji?” he asked.

Strangely, Kikumaru glared at him. “He was so tired after your punishment this morning that he fell asleep in class and Mr. Morioka made him stay behind.”

“Which classroom?” Tezuka asked, suddenly feeling guilty that he’d assumed Fuji had stood him up, not to mention that his over-zealous captaining had caused Fuji strife in class.

He was off as soon as Kikumaru recited the number, jogging up two flights of stairs. When he reached the room, he took a moment to catch his breath before reaching for the door handle. However, Fuji’s raised voice gave him pause.

*

“Please, don’t tell anyone,” Fuji asked quietly, his eyes lowered. 

He sat at his desk, for the first time feeling like an actual student in relation to a teacher. He didn’t like it.

“Fuji-san, this is a serious matter. Now, please, show me your wrists,” Mr. Morioka replied gravely. 

“It’s none of your business,” Fuji snapped at him almost angrily. He was not going to deal with this. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t like those other kids. He wasn’t subject to authority.

At least, it had always felt that way.

“Of course it’s my business,” Mr. Morioka argued, leaning over the desk. However, his voice was kinder than expected, almost pleading. “When one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught is cutting himself, it is my prerogative to interfere.”

Fuji drew in a deep, shaky breath. He was afraid but he didn’t know what else to do. “If… If you forget about it, I’ll…” Unable to get the words out, he did what came easiest and reached for the man’s crotch. His fingers barely brushed Mr. Morioka’s zipper before the teacher recoiled.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he cried in shock. “Fuji-san, what has gotten into you?”

Angry that he’d allowed himself to be humiliated, Fuji lashed out, his eyes rising with a furious glare. “If you really want to know, several things have gotten into me. I’m still feeling it!” he snapped. For just a moment, he regretted the outburst, but the only way to delay the horror at his own words was to forge on. “And why not seduce you? It’s what everyone wants from me, isn’t it? Why not you, too? It’ll be a worthy reward for keeping quiet, so you don’t have to worry about getting anything sub-standard-”

“Fuji!-”

Before Mr. Morioka could finish his reprimand, the door burst open and Tezuka stormed into the room. 

Fuji felt like he could barely sink any further. He was a moment away from unstoppable tears, he was shaking all over, and his cheeks were probably flushed red. Looking up into Tezuka’s furious eyes and knowing that his beloved captain had heard at least some of his outburst… it was too much.

He scrambled back, his chair scraping the floor loudly as he got to his feet. However, he didn’t get far before Tezuka grabbed him by the collar, jerking him roughly.

Tezuka said nothing. He just stared angrily into Fuji’s eyes.

It was the longest, most awkward moment of Fuji’s life. He felt thoroughly ashamed of himself and as if the world could not go on after this final, excruciating occurrence. The world couldn’t exist if Tezuka knew how depraved and pathetic he was. The world couldn’t-

“What is this about, Fuji?” Tezuka asked quietly, his voice now seething with un-shed anger as he released his grip on Fuji’s shirt with a little push. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

Fuji was aware of Mr. Morioka behind Tezuka, completely astounded, but all he was really conscious of was that Tezuka had heard him try to shut a teacher up with an offer of sexual favors. Feeling utterly weak and trembling like a leaf in the wind, Fuji didn’t think he could speak but he knew he wasn’t going anywhere without telling Tezuka the truth. So he did the next best thing. He threw himself under the bus and reached down and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the practical band of scars circling his left wrist.

He swayed dangerously as Tezuka squeezed his wrist painfully in lifting it for inspection. As he looked away, angry, hurt tears fell down his cheeks. Fuji felt dizzy. He just wanted to run for it.

“What the hell is this?” Tezuka growled, his voice raised in truly emotional anger for the first time since Fuji had known him. “Is this why you skipped practice for two days? Why you’ve done so in the past?” 

He repelled Fuji’s wrist with enough force to send the limp tensai reeling backwards. 

Fuji felt like he should try to say something. “I-”

“Tezuka-san-”

“Sensei,” Tezuka rounded on his heel, even as they both spoke, and bowed deeply. “I apologize for my teammate. As captain, I take responsibility for his actions, and ask that you allow me to deal with this.”

Morioka seemed to consider it for a moment but he shook his head. “This isn’t a tennis-related incident. I can’t allow-”

“Sensei.” Tezuka straightened, speaking frankly with all of the authority he seemed to exude in masses. “You should know that Fuji is a promising student with many valid career options. He also faces a great deal of pressure and expectation. If this gets out, then the actions of a frightened and cornered teenager could ruin the future for a good, stable man. If you truly believe in what is best for your students, then please allow me to deal with this.”

“Tezuka!” Fuji yelled, angry at being ignored and having decisions made on his own behalf. “Nobody asked you to-”

“Shut up, Fuji,” Tezuka snapped without looking at him, sounding far more vicious than Fuji would have expected.

Once again, he was shocked into silence. This wasn’t like Tezuka at all. Then again, Tezuka was probably thinking the same thing about him. Wisely, Fuji gave in and shut his mouth, staring at the ground.

“Normally, I wouldn’t consider such a course,” Mr. Morioka began, his eyes on Fuji rather than Tezuka. His gaze then returned to the captain awaiting his verdict. “However, as you say, Fuji-san has a very promising future and if this can be straightened out now before it ruins his life then the matter is better in the hands of a capable friend... and superior. Besides, I-I’ve seen how ugly legalities can become and I don’t wish for it to come to that, after all. Very well,” he said with a little bow. “I leave the matter in your hands, Tezuka-kun.”

“Thank you,” Tezuka replied with another deep bow.

After that, they waited whilst the teacher pointedly went to collect his briefcase and left the room. The door closed, encasing them both in silence.

Unwilling to just roll over, Fuji took the initiative. “Thanks for your help. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer for coffee…” he made to brush past Tezuka but stopped at the expected hand on his arm. “Actually, it’s a-”

“You think I’m worried about that now?” Tezuka asked.

“Of course not,” Fuji replied automatically. “Why should you be?” He took a shaky breath. “That was before you knew I’m a suicidal, masochistic slut,” he spat, trying to jerk out of Tezuka’s grasp. It didn’t work.

Tezuka pulled hard on his arm, forcing him to swing unwillingly to face the captain. 

“Insulting yourself,” Tezuka began, “isn’t the most effective way to hurt me.”

“What insults? It’s just plain fact,” Fuji replied, glaring defiantly despite the puffy, moist state of his eyes.

It had been his intention to make Tezuka angry. What he didn’t expect was to see tears in Tezuka’s own eyes.

“Why are you doing this, Fuji? I don’t understand you at all,” he said quietly.

“I…” Fuji looked away but his eyes slid back a moment later. Tezuka was weak. Now was the time to end it and just get the hell out of there. “I’m fucked up, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know. Don’t worry, I’ll - I’ll change schools or something. You won’t have to put up with me-”

The next thing he knew, Tezuka was hugging him so tightly he was sure it was a murder attempt, and sure enough, there seemed to be a touch of vindictive anger in the strength of the embrace.

“Are you completely inane?” Tezuka asked of him. “Do you think I’m that shallow? I don’t want to get rid of you, Fuji. I want to help you! I’m worried.”

Fuji pushed him away. He didn’t want to stay in Tezuka’s arms too long. It was far too nice there.

“I don’t need help. I don’t want it. So I’ve tried to kill myself a couple of times… I got along just fine without you. I have my own ways of dealing. I have other people to take care of me, so-”

“You call this taking caring of you? Dealing?” Tezuka retorted, honestly taken aback. Then, it hit him. “A couple of times? You actually…”

Fuji seriously regretted saying anything.

“Why? You have everything! Why would you-?”

“What would you know?” Fuji suddenly snapped. “I’m just a tensai! I’m good at everything and everyone respects me. So what? My brother hates me, my parents don’t even notice that I’ve been cutting myself for years, I’ve had more lovers than I can count, and not one of them has ever asked anything about me! Everyone always assumes they know everything because as far as they’re concerned, ‘tensai’ is all they care about!”

When Tezuka blanched, Fuji just knew he was thinking ‘but you’re only fourteen’.

“Oh, like you’ve never been hit on by a teacher, or your parents’ friends. Like the neighborhood gangs haven’t tried to have their way with you,” he spat, annoyed at Tezuka’s pristine attitude.

Tezuka seemed genuinely surprised that Fuji would think so. “No,” he said simply, realization dawning in his eyes and causing Fuji to pause and double take, his words coming back at him and making his cheeks flame ridiculously red.

“I mean… You’re much better looking than I am,” Fuji babbled. “You’re smart and athletic, too. Obviously… surely…”

“Fuji, I’m so sorry,” Tezuka all but whispered.

That was the last of it. Fuji could take anger, he could handle guilt, he could even deal with Tezuka’s apparent martyr complex, but pity… Pity was something he could not accept.

After a brief false start, Fuji was running. He was out the door, down the stairs, out of the school buildings, and past the gate. 

He felt like throwing up. He felt like running in front of a car. He found the next best thing.


	3. I Traveled the World and the Seven Seas

Yamabuki’s Akutsu Jin was hanging out in a random park in central Tokyo; smoking, breaking a thing or two, and just generally skipping school. He wasn’t expecting much of the day but he hit the jackpot in the deserted, rusty old playground.

If it wasn’t Seigaku’s Fuji, Syusuke, honestly looking as if he wanted to tear a jagged piece of metal from the fence and cut himself open. Well, as much as Akutsu wanted to see that, from what he’d heard of Fuji, there were better things to do with the tensai than to watch him die.

“Oi.”

Fuji looked up, startled.

“Skipping school?” Akutsu asked with a smirk, despite the obvious fact that he was doing so himself.

“Aren’t you?” Fuji asked rather smoothly, his usual smile recovered quickly.

Akutsu tossed down his cigarette and stamped it out. He then glanced up to make eye contact with Fuji before raising his head cockily. Arrogance came naturally to him.

“I don’t care about that place,” he said. “But you… You should be different… te-n-sa-i.”

Fuji swallowed visibly, his eyes suddenly sliding to the left and right of Akutsu in search of an escape... He had good instincts. He’d already sensed the danger.

However, instead of panicking and running like Akutsu had been hoping for, he calmed himself and went for the diplomatic route, though his fear was still almost tangible.

“You’re right,” he said, already taking the first step toward freedom. “I should be getting back there.” 

“Let me escort you,” Akutsu replied, his hand on Fuji’s shoulder in a flash.

“Thank you, but-”

“It’s not safe, a scrawny kid like you wandering around a park that’s deserted on school days... You might run into some thugs.”

It was non-negotiable, and Fuji shut up all too wisely and kept moving.

*

His ass hurt constantly, the pain fluctuating between numbness and unbearable agony. Akutsu was huge and he’d just torn his way in. It wasn’t something Fuji could take without decent prep.

If that was all, it mightn’t have been so bad. Tearing was nasty but it wouldn’t kill him. Unfortunately, the more pleasure Akutsu drew from fucking him, the more violent he became. 

It started with the occasional grinding of Fuji’s face into the pavement. Akutsu had hold of his hair, controlling his head completely. As he started to grunt in pleasure, he smashed Fuji face down, hard. While Fuji was still reeling from the impact, he did it again. And again and again and again, each impact harder and more painful than the last.

Fuji no longer had any control over his body. The pain had rendered his mind apart from his senses. If he screamed and cried and bit his tongue, he didn’t notice.

Akutsu was going to kill him; going to pound his skull into liquid on the pavement. Fuji was finally going to get his wish.

But all of a sudden, he didn’t want to die. It didn’t matter that he was petty, lonely and pathetic, or that Yuuta hated him, or that Tezuka pitied him. It didn’t matter that his parents were blind to the amount of times he’d been used and abused in their own home by his their very friends—Yuuta’s, too. It didn’t matter that his whole life had been a ridiculous farce, a lie. It didn’t matter that death would be the best thing for him; the only way out.

For some stupid, inane reason… 

He wanted to live.

*

Kirihara was in a bad mood. He’d lost to Sanada again and Yukimura had smiled that sweet, deceptive smile, practically scratching his little puppy behind the ears as though he wasn’t already fucking Fuji, as though he was even vaguely interested in the brick-for-brains that was Sanada, Genichirou. Bastard.

Consequently, he’d left school immediately after practice, directly disobeying Yukimura’s ‘suggestion’ that he actually attend a class or two. Kirihara didn’t need to go to class. He passed all of his subjects, anyway.

Not that he was a tensai like Fuji but all that stuff was just obvious, really. Who needed a teacher to repeat what you could read himself in a book?

So he ended up in the Seigaku neighborhood, thinking about ambushing Fuji after school. He’d heard the tensai was back in town after his little holiday to Chiba. It was probably too soon but Kirihara was in the area, anyway so it couldn't hurt to hang out a little. Maybe he’d just play a game with Fuji, after all. He could borrow a racket…

That was when he heard Fuji screaming. He knew that scream.

He didn’t even stop to wonder what Fuji was doing, screaming in a park in the middle of the day. Instead, he just took off toward the sound, running at top speed. Once he was in view, he saw a huge guy he recognized from Renji’s data on Yamabuki straddling Fuji and pounding his face into the pavement even as he barraged the tensai’s ass. He looked fucking blissful, the motherfucker!

Kirihara was on him before he knew it, pounding his fist into the guy’s stupid face and digging his knee into the bastard’s kidneys. His prey was on the ground in a minute, unconscious after several kicks to the head, but Kirihara didn’t stop. He laughed, grinding his heel into the fucker’s nose.

Only when he heard Fuji gasp weakly did he stop, dropping to the bloody and beaten tensai’s side. He wasn’t pleased with what he saw.

“You gonna live?” he asked, feigning as if he didn’t care although his heart was beating rapidly, now in fear rather than the adrenaline of a good beating.

“Kiri…hara?” Fuji gasped, his eyes popping wide with the pain of speaking.

“If you wanted to be fucked like that, you could have just come to me,” Kirihara grumbled, testing out whether Fuji would break if he was lifted.

Fuji cried out in pain and hissed, “It wasn’t intentional.”

“In that case, I’ll come back and finish him later,” Kirihara replied, seething with anger that anyone had dared to rape ‘his’ victim. Maybe Fuji was Yukimura’s lover, but he had certain needs that Kirihara was happy to fulfill, so it wasn’t like it was completely non-consensual. Fuji just liked to pretend it was. The difference between this and that was pretty plain.

“I think a couple of my ribs are broken,” Fuji wheezed as Kirihara picked him up for real, trying not to jostle him too much.

“Probably,” Kirihara agreed, feeling bad as Fuji whimpered in pain. He gave up, gently lowering the tensai back down. “I’ll have to call an ambulance.”

“No!” Fuji insisted.

“I knew you’d say that but I can’t carry you in this condition and I’m not leaving you to die here,” Kirihara said quietly, taking out his phone. 

“Why do you care?” Fuji asked, his face contorting in pain. It sounded like speaking hurt him pretty badly.

“Stop talking,” Kirihara ordered. He was going to leave it at that... but something compelled him to answer the question: “If anything happened to you, Yukimura would be pissed, and I’d cop it… Besides, who’d I relieve my stress on if you died?”

Fuji actually smiled and mouthed, ‘thank you’ before he seemed to decide to lie very still and just wait. It wasn’t like he could argue anymore, anyway.

Kirihara called an ambulance and gave them the approximate address. He should probably have left after that. He was skipping school and he’d beaten that asshole almost to death but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to leave Fuji in this state.

Instead, he amused himself by delivering a few unmerciful blows to the sicko’s groin. It was stained in cum and blood. He must’ve gotten off just before or during the beating. Fucker.

The ambulance arrived and a couple of paramedics jogged up with a stretcher only a moment after Kirihara wiped his shoe off on the grass. They seemed at a loss. 

“I thought there was only one injured,” one of them said.

“Oh, did I forget to mention him?” asked Kirihara innocently. “My bad.”

At least this time he had a good excuse for beating someone up. He’d always wanted to be able to get away with it…


	4. Everybody’s Looking for Something

Kirihara winced when he looked at his buzzing phone and saw the caller ID. It was Yukimura. The captain had probably figured out he wasn’t at school and was calling to scold him.

Kirihara calculated fast. If he didn’t answer, then when Yukimura found out about Fuji he might just consider Kirihara’s absence and his violent tendencies and jump to the wrong conclusion. Akutsu—that was, apparently, the bastard’s name—was there as proof, but who was to say that Kirihara hadn’t teamed up with him and then turned on him? It wasn’t an unlikely scenario to someone who knew him, and Yukimura might get a little possessive over ‘his’ Fuji… 

On the other hand, if Kirihara answered the phone, then he had to deal with Yukimura being pissed at him for skipping school, and he would have to be the one to tell the captain what had happened. He also didn’t really want to try and explain to his captain why exactly he’d saved Fuji, Syusuke’s ass.

Though the former scenario would clear up with time, the latter was slightly more pleasant in the meantime. If Kirihara told Yukimura right away, he might just escape notice, and it would take the heat off of his disobeying orders.

He answered the phone.

“Akaya-kun, if you care explain to me exactly why you are skipping class—from the word go—and you happen to have a good reason, then I might consider not throwing you off the team.”

It was all said in the sweetest, most terrifying voice Kirihara had ever heard from his captain. He shuddered, suddenly glad that Yukimura’s wrath was about to be distributed elsewhere.

“I might not have a good reason, but you’re gonna be thankful I did skip…”

*

Tezuka was in a half-suspended frame of mind all afternoon. He couldn’t stop thinking about Fuji, about what he’d heard, and what they’d both said. He couldn’t believe all he’d learned in such a short amount of time about someone he’d thought he’d known for years. It was too much to take in.

When Ryuzaki-sensei waylaid him immediately after class, her face lined with worry, Tezuka at first thought she’d also found out. Maybe Fuji’s teacher had told her… 

“Tezuka,” she began. “Fuji won’t be at practice this afternoon. Something’s happened.”

Tezuka’s blood instantly ran cold. The image of Fuji lying in a bathroom somewhere with blood flowing freely from his wrists rooted itself in his mind.

Ryuzaki went on. “He’s in hospital. It seems that while skipping school today, he was attacked. Kirihara, Akaya from Rikkaidai has been detained by the police, and Akutsu, Jin also seems to be in hospital. We don’t know what happened but-”

“Sensei, please excuse me from practice,” Tezuka said, cutting her off and bowing low.

He then took off, briefly stopping by his locker to pick up bag and shoes and then caught a taxi to the hospital.

*

When a very sweet young boy asked which room his friend was in, the nurse never questioned, helpfully pointing him in the right direction. When the doctor exiting the room ran into the charming young lad, he couldn’t help being persuaded, despite the patient’s dire status. The boy really shouldn’t have been receiving visitors, but said visitor really did seem like the type to aid a patient’s recovery…

When Atobe stormed into Akutsu, Jin’s room, he froze, somehow shocked that he’d already been beaten to the punch. Well, not exactly.

When Atobe heard about Fuji’s condition and subsequently discovered the identity of the culprit, he had intended to pay a visit to Akutsu’s room and beat him so badly he’d bleed into the next century. He didn’t care that word was, Kirihara, Akaya had already done exactly that. Nobody touched his Fuji without feeling the extent of Atobe’s divine wrath.

However, when he entered Akutsu’s room, he was greeted with the sight of Rikkaidai’s captain, Yukimura, smiling serenely with his slim but strong hands wrapped around Akutsu’s throat. He seemed to be strangling the bastard quite effectively.

*

Yukimura really hadn’t meant to pounce on Akutsu and try to kill him. Honestly, he’d only intended to talk to the pathetic rapist. It was just that… the moment he’d seen Akutsu’s face, he snapped… a little. 

It wasn’t until Atobe walked in on his homicidal attempt that he returned to his proper senses and let his fingers slip from the dying boy’s throat. Too bad… Akutsu was just beginning to turn a delightful shade of purple.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Atobe snarled, looking murderous himself. 

“Ah, Atobe-kun. Good afternoon,” he greeted. “Uh, gomen… I honestly didn’t think you would be friends with trash like this.” He tossed a brief glance over his shoulder at the unconscious Akutsu and then brushed straight past Atobe and out the door.

Atobe made a grab at him but he dodged easily and continued straight out of the hospital. He’d visit Fuji later, lest he take out his barely suppressed fury on his currently frail lover.

*

Atobe brushed off his confusion at Rikkaidai’s interference and stared at Fuji’s rapist for a short while. He wished he’d gotten to Akutsu first, but by the looks of it, Kirihara had already done a decent number on him, and Yukimura’s second serving appeared to have been bare moments from ending Akutsu’s life. His vital signals had almost dropped to the point where an alarm would have been sent through the hospital at any moment, bringing doctors and nurses running. As it was, Atobe couldn’t touch him without causing exactly that, but he seemed to have lost the drive to.

Short of death, Akutsu had gotten what he deserved—for now. Punishment was one thing. Atobe would see to it that his very life was ruined in every way soon enough. 

That future already settled in his mind, Atobe turned his attention to a more important matter. He made his way back to the information desk in search of Fuji’s room.

*

Fuji had passed out once or twice and slept and woken a few times. He was doped up with morphine to kill the pain and his mind was a complete haze, but if he tried, he could clear it sufficiently to think coherently enough.

The first thing he wondered at that stage was who would be the first to visit.

He was aware that Kirihara had already been taken to the police station. They were probably awaiting a statement from Fuji himself but the tensai wasn’t ready to address that just yet.

He was quite sure that Kirihara had been in contact with Yukimura, but whether that particular lover would surrender enough to visit him so soon was a matter of uncertainty. Fuji himself didn’t know whether he wanted that or not.

Saeki would be the last to hear, no matter what, so that led to two questions. One: Who would find out first, Tezuka or Atobe? Two: Would Tezuka be ready to face him just yet?

That brought up another set of questions, actually. In fact, thinking about how each of his friends and lovers would react was a good way of passing the time when he was awake.

Would Yukimura even care? He could go in two ways. He’d either be rather apathetic, offering at the most a pat on the head, or he’d be dangerously angry, in which case Fuji himself would probably suffer the consequences.

As for Atobe… There was no doubt that he’d be both furious at Akutsu and terribly worried about Fuji. That was just how he was. He’d probably end up scolding Fuji, as if the tensai had wanted to be raped and nearly beaten to death…

Well, maybe, at the time, he had.

Fuji winced. Saeki would be worried sick as soon as he heard. Fuji would have to call as soon as he was capable. It would be best if he was the one to tell Saeki, and that way he could prevent his friend from coming in from Chiba. 

And that left him… back at Tezuka again. He just didn’t know what Tezuka would say or do, and he didn’t know how he would react in any scenario, nor how he should. He was already ashamed enough as it was. 

Just as he was slipping into an uncomfortable dream with that thought in mind, the door opened. 

Fuji blinked open weary eyes to see Atobe striding towards him. The brief shock in his expression was enough to tell Fuji not to look in a mirror for a while, and the way Atobe trembled as he tried to feign calm made Fuji feel guilty for putting the Hyoutei captain through so much.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling terrible for putting that chink in Atobe’s usually impenetrable armor.

“Fool,” Atobe whispered, slightly shaking fingers reaching out to touch Fuji’s damp hair. The blood had been scrubbed out of it along with the rest of the blood soaking his body. “You’re not supposed to be the one apologizing.”

There were tears in Atobe’s eyes, Fuji noticed. 

“Do I really look that bad?” he asked, smiling weakly.

“You never look bad,” Atobe replied, his voice raspy as he tried to hold back the tears. “You’re mine, after all.”

Fuji managed a better smile at that, though he avoided commenting. Atobe really was sweet in his own, narcissistic way…

*

Tezuka arrived at the hospital, intending to thoroughly scold Fuji and point out that he deserved what he got for skipping out on school. He was going to demand answers about what exactly had happened, even if Fuji didn’t want to tell him, and he was going to make Fuji promise to stop hurting himself because Tezuka simply could not handle a repeat instance. The terror he’d felt when Ryuzaki-sensei had told him ‘something had happened;’ the thought that Fuji had killed himself… Tezuka could not and would not accept that. It wasn’t fair. At least if he had Fuji’s promise, he would never have to imagine anything so horrifying ever again. 

With a little shudder at the memory, Tezuka pushed open the door to Fuji’s room, his eyes rising from the handle to the bed. Needless to say, he was surprised to see Atobe sitting there and petting Fuji’s hand.

The Hyoutei captain glanced up, his hand retreating almost subtly from Fuji’s as he muttered, “Tezuka.”

Tezuka received another surprise as he observed that Atobe had been crying. 

Meanwhile, Fuji averted his eyes, instantly replacing Tezuka’s surprise and horror at Fuji’s awful appearance with anger. He turned it on Atobe.

“If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to talk with my team member in private,” he said.

Atobe seemed hesitant, and looked to Fuji for confirmation but he apparently decided it was the right thing to do despite Fuji’s obvious reluctance. He squeezed Fuji’s hand once and rose, saying, “Of course.” However, on his way to the door, he paused, looking back at Fuji. “I’m going to the Italian restaurant in the next neighborhood over. Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll return later.”

He briefly met Tezuka’s eyes before making his exit, leaving Tezuka a touch confused. He knew Atobe was interested in Fuji but he hadn’t suspected there was anything actually going on between them.

“I’m sleeping with him,” Fuji blurted out, still staring at the far wall. “In case you were wondering,” he added.

Tezuka approached the bed. He didn’t know what he was expected to say. 

“Just sleeping with him? Atobe seems to have deeper feelings than that,” he challenged, only a touch reluctantly.

“It’s not like I’m in love with him,” Fuji muttered, a certain flat tone to his voice that Tezuka didn’t like.

Bending down, Tezuka braced himself on the bed with one hand and turned Fuji’s chin toward him with the other, studying the tensai’s bruised, swollen, and stitched face. “They really hurt you,” he murmured, concern creeping into his irritation with Fuji.

The tensai was silent. 

“Ryuzaki-sensei said Kirihara from Rikkaidai was detained by the police. Did he do this to you?” Tezuka asked, reluctant to move away and thus using his examination of Fuji’s injuries as an excuse to stay close to the tensai.

Fuji shook his head. “Kirihara saved my life,” he said, his voice cracking and tears welling in his eyes despite his determination to seem apathetic. Tezuka’s anger drained even further as he realized just how much Fuji must have suffered.

“Then who?” Tezuka asked, imploring Fuji to answer him. “Tell me and I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away with it—or them, whoever it was.”

Fuji looked away from him again, and once more Tezuka grew angry.

“Damn it, Fuji! Don’t you think I’ve had enough of this for one day? I don’t care about your damned pride, just answer the question!” he snapped, instantly regretting the outburst. He backed off, though still glaring at Fuji and silently willing him to answer.

“Kirihara already took care of it,” Fuji said eventually. He slowly rolled his head to face Tezuka. “From what I hear, Akutsu’s in worse shape than me, although that’s difficult to imagine,” he added with a small smile that wrenched Tezuka’s heart.


	5. Some of them Want to Use You

Listening to Fuji’s story, Tezuka grew ironically calm. Oh, he was angry enough, but bit by bit, he was starting to understand Fuji.

“And Kirihara just rushed in and saved you?” he asked skeptically as they neared the conclusion.

He didn’t like the way Fuji seemed so detached whilst speaking about his ordeal, but at least he was getting some answers. Once he knew all the details, then he could worry about Fuji’s emotional healing.

“He’s not as bad as people think,” Fuji answered seriously.

“So he’s not a violent delinquent who uses tennis to hurt others?” Tezuka argued dryly.

“He’s not a delinquent,” Fuji replied, looking Tezuka dead in the eyes. 

“Not that I’m not grateful to him for saving you, but I don’t trust his motives, Fuji,” Tezuka told him honestly, wishing Fuji could think about it more rationally.

“That’s because you don’t know his motives,” Fuji replied stubbornly.

“And you do?” Tezuka challenged, wondering at this mysterious new connection between Fuji and Kirihara.

“I do,” Fuji answered quietly with finality.

“Don’t tell me,” Tezuka muttered dryly. “You’re sleeping with him, too?”

Fuji seemed surprised at Tezuka’s forwardness, and well he should be. It wasn’t like Tezuka to be so bitter and challenging. He looked away before Fuji could reply. 

“Forget I asked.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Fuji spoke. “I don’t expect you to understand,” he said. “Actually, I hope you never do.”

“So you are,” Tezuka pushed. “Sleeping with him.”

“I… It’s different. I have a relationship with Atobe,” Fuji finally admitted. “With Kirihara… it’s something else.”

“So you’re cheating on Atobe,” Tezuka muttered, prodding further and further.

Fuji didn’t answer, and Tezuka felt his hackles rise again, so he pushed a little further just for good measure.

“Is there anyone else I should know about?” he asked. “How about Yamabuki’s Sengoku, or Tachibana, Kippei? Maybe someone from our own team?”

Apparently he’d gone and pushed too far. Fuji started crying, his face scrunching up in pain as tears crept into his wounds.

Tezuka sighed. “I’m sorry. That was… out of line,” he said, although the boundaries of what was acceptable and what was not were somewhat blurred as this was a situation Tezuka had never faced before.

At a loss as to what to say, Tezuka sat awkwardly, watching Fuji cry. It occurred to him that Fuji didn’t seem to have shown symptoms of having cried earlier; given, it was hard to tell, seeing as his face was so out of shape. If Fuji hadn’t cried at being beaten, if he hadn’t succumbed to emotion after the fact, and if Tezuka’s words had suddenly caused him to break, then maybe he was aware that his actions weren’t so ideal after all…

Of course he was aware. When had Tezuka begun to view Fuji as completely immoral? 

He sighed again, averting his eyes. It was just so hard. He didn’t know what to think because the Fuji he knew was someone else. This Fuji was like a stranger to him; this Fuji who hurt himself, who played with others, who cheated on someone who appeared to have feelings for him, who propositioned teachers… How long had this Fuji been hiding away?

“Tezuka-san, how long are you going to sit there and watch him cry?”

Tezuka glanced up in shock to see Rikkaidai’s Yukimura standing in front of the door. He hadn’t even heard the rival captain enter.

Fuji, too, looked up in shock, the sounds of his crying temporarily halted, though tears continued to slip down his cheeks at irregular intervals.

Yukimura walked over to the bed. “When a friend is crying, you’re supposed to comfort him,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling Fuji into his arms.

Tezuka’s gut protested as Fuji whimpered in pain at the movement but once he was settled, he seemed to accept the embrace, making Tezuka wonder if he should add Yukimura to the list of Fuji’s conquests.

“See? He’s stopped crying,” Yukimura pointed out without looking up at Tezuka.

Tezuka, however, bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that Fuji obviously didn’t want Yukimura to see him cry, considering how stiff he was, and Tezuka didn’t particularly want to leave them alone if Fuji wasn’t comfortable—not that their own conversation had been entirely calm.

*

Seeing as Tezuka didn’t seem to get the hint, Yukimura relaxed his hold on Fuji. He knew his fingers were digging into just the right spot surrounding Fuji’s broken ribs to cause a measure of pain and while he would just love to exploit that to an extent, he couldn’t give too much away in front of Fuji’s captain. Best to back off a little…

He gently let Fuji down to the bed and stroked the tensai’s hair off his badly beaten face, frowning. There was more damage than he’d expected to see. Now he really wished Atobe hadn’t prevented him from strangling the life out of Akutsu.

“I suppose I can forgive Akaya for skipping school, just this once. It looks like he managed to do something right for a change,” Yukimura said quietly. “Still, Fuji…-san, someone like you should take more care. My team mates won’t always be around to rescue you.”

Yukimura was aware of Tezuka’s growing aggravation. He, of course, had no knowledge of Yukimura’s relationship with Fuji and from his point of view, a rival captain was getting very familiar with his team member… Akaya’s involvement wasn’t quite enough to compensate for Yukimura’s concern. It probably seemed like Yukimura was taking responsibility for his subordinate’s actions, and thus, reaping the credit. 

Of course, it wasn’t entirely an undesirable impression to give. Yukimura was enjoying Tezuka’s frustration.

“Well,” he said, slipping off the bed. “I suppose I had better visit the little hero. Fuji-san, do feel free to delay your official statement a little longer. Akaya did disobey my orders to attend school, after all.”

*

Tezuka wasn’t blind to the shudder that ran through Fuji at Yukimura’s last phrase before he departed. There was something not quite right about the way in which Yukimura had interacted with Fuji. Something didn’t… fit.

He wanted to ask. He very much wanted to demand that Fuji fill in the blanks but he knew that their relationship was already stretched very, very thin. If Tezuka didn’t do something about that, then he was going to lose a long-time friend, even if that friend was suddenly a different person. 

It was time to swallow his own pride. “Fuji, I’m sorry. I’ve treated you badly today but… you’ll have to give me time to adjust.”

Tezuka was surprised when Fuji reached out and took his hand, just holding it. “You haven’t,” he said. “You haven’t treated me badly at all. I’m the one who should apologize. I’ve been trying to drive you away but you’re still sitting here, so now I’m embarrassed.” Fuji met his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t deserve a friend as forgiving as you, so don’t apologize for reacting to my short comings.”

Somehow, hearing that from Fuji healed some of the turmoil in Tezuka’s heart. At least they’d made a start towards repairing their friendship.

Leaving it at that for the time being, neither of them said anything more, and Fuji soon drifted off to sleep. Tezuka left a little while later. He still had homework and his own training to deal with after all. Not to mention a great deal to reflect on.


	6. Some of them Wanna Get Used by You

When Fuji next woke up, he was alone. Tezuka must have left. He was slightly disappointed but he was also somewhat relieved. He couldn’t relax with Tezuka there watching over him, the tension between them almost crackling.

He simply couldn’t believe how much he had managed to break apart in one day. What else could he possibly screw up? Well, he only had four relationships left to mess with, so he should probably get started…

Expelling a cry of pain as he sat himself up, Fuji sagged, his spine almost immediately shooting upright which caused further pain still. That was probably the broken ribs he’d forgotten about, his scraping of them breaking through the considerable barrier of the morphine and leaving him in agony even after he gave up and collapsed back down on the bed.

Dizzily, he glanced around for a button, finding one within reach if he stretched just a—AAH!—little. Gasping and panting, he settled, waiting for the nurse to arrive.

When she did, he quickly brushed off her fretting, hiding his pain beneath a well-erected mask. He asked her to wind his bed up and to bring him his phone from the bag by his bedside. Then, he shooed her back out—well, with less shooing and more happy reassurance.

Then, he took a moment to focus and try and block out the lingering pain before giving Saeki a call.

“Fuji? Hey, was Tezuka’s punishment bad?” Saeki asked, sounding as if he was slightly distracted.

“Not too bad… Are you busy?” Fuji asked. 

“Not really. Hang on a sec…”

Fuji held the phone to his ear, closing his eyes and listening to the faint sounds from the other end of the line. About a minute later, Saeki picked up the phone again.

“Sorry to make you wait. So, what’s up?” he asked, sounding oddly cheerful.

Fuji briefly considered not telling him out of sympathy for his good mood, but in the end, it would be worse if he found out later from someone else.

“Saeki… It’s… been a long day,” he began.

“What happened?”

Fuji could practically hear Saeki’s frown. 

“I, uh… Well to begin with there was Tezuka’s punishment, and then… Then, he asked me out for coffee.” For just a brief moment, Fuji felt like crying again, remembering that morning when something so trivial had seemed so complicated, and yet he had wanted that coffee with Tezuka so badly… 

“Really? That’s great!” Saeki cried. “Tezuka’s really… he’s a really good guy,” he finished weakly.

Fuji could hear the jealousy setting in, which was funny, because Saeki had long ago stopped Fuji from making any moves to deepen their friendship. He would never understand why, but he was more than glad to have a friend like Saeki no matter what the reason.

“He is...” Fuji agreed, staring down into his lap. “Which is why I screwed up so badly.”

“What happened?” Saeki asked again, this time responding to the desolation in Fuji’s tone.

“I… I fell asleep in class, and my teacher found my scars. When he was confronting me about it, Tezuka overheard. He… heard me offer sex in exchange for keeping quiet.”

“You what?”

Fuji flushed in shame. “And then…” he pushed on, “Tezuka asked Morioka-sensei to let him deal with me… Can you believe it?” the tensai asked quietly, still hardly able to comprehend the situation himself.

“Yes.”

“… That’s beside the point. The point is that I ran off, skipped school, and ended up getting raped by Akutsu, Jin,” Fuji finished in a rush, knowing that the longer he dragged out the story, the more the punch line would hurt.

“Akutsu—What?!”

“I… I wanted to tell you before you heard from someone else, and they exaggerated it, or-”

“Exaggerate? How could they possibly exaggerate? Fuji, I’m-”

“You’re not coming to Tokyo. There’s no need.”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Saeki, please… It’s complicated enough right now. Between Atobe, Yukimura… and Tezuka, I’m dealing with about all I can. Kirihara’s bad enough on top of it but I don’t want to cause problems for you, too. Stay where you are. I promise to call and tell you how I’m doing.”

There was silence for a while before Saeki finally spoke.

“You can’t do anything normally, can you?” he asked, sporting the wisdom of a childhood friend.

“I’m so sorry, Saeki,” Fuji pleaded, even though he knew Saeki had already forgiven him for everything and anything.

“Instead of apologizing, just make it so that one day you won’t have to,” Saeki told him. “I love you, Fuji,” he added, just a little sadly.

“I love you, too,” Fuji whispered, almost tearing up, yet again.

“Call me,” Saeki added before hanging up.

Fuji slowly lowered the phone, letting out a long, slow sigh—then suddenly glanced up at the sound of clapping.

The morphine must have dulled his senses, because he’d never heard Atobe enter or noticed him standing there. He couldn’t even muster up the energy for panic as he realized that at the very least, his boyfriend had heard him profess his love for someone else.

“That was touching,” Atobe remarked as he sauntered over to Fuji’s bedside.

He almost slammed the box of flowers that had been cradled in his arms onto the bedside table. Then, he took the phone out of Fuji’s hand and helpfully placed it next to the flowers so Fuji didn’t have to stretch. 

“I brought you roses,” he pointed out redundantly. “Twenty.”

“They’re beautiful,” Fuji agreed, not even looking at the flowers as his eyes were trained on Atobe. He was afraid of the outburst that was going to erupt at any moment.

“That was Saeki on the pone?” Atobe asked in barely more than a quizzical tone, not looking at Fuji at all to see the hesitant little nod of reply. “I’m glad Tezuka’s gone. Ore-sama shouldn’t have to explain himself to anyone—which no doubt Tezuka would expect,” Atobe muttered, busying himself with arranging each individual rose to perfection.

“Atobe-”

“Master.”

“No.”

“… No?” 

Atobe finally looked at him, smoothly raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Not today,” Fuji replied quietly. “Atobe-”

“Fuji, I have a matter to discuss with you,” Atobe cut in suddenly. “Now seems as good a time as any.” Ending with a touch of a questioning tone, Atobe effectively forced Fuji’s hand.

Resignedly, the tensai nodded, his eyes dropping from Atobe’s. He might as well deal with whatever Atobe wanted to throw at him. The more he could get over in one day, the better.

“Fuji.” Atobe waited for Fuji to look back up at him, meeting his eyes and pinning them. “Those scars on your back. Where do they come from?” he asked bluntly.

As he stared evenly into Atobe’s eyes, Fuji considered lying, he considered dodging the question, and he considered simply not answering at all. However, instead, he decided to acknowledge Atobe’s intelligence.

“Yukimura,” he answered truthfully without deliberating for too long. If he was going to lose Atobe, then at the least he could be honest.

For just a moment, he saw Atobe’s eyes flash in fury, and then the turmoil subsided behind a cold mask.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because someone needs to punish me,” Fuji replied, trying to sound nonchalant though his voice was too tight to be effective. “And you can’t do it.”

Atobe looked away, disgust clear in his eyes. “I fell in love with you and I promised to myself to make you feel so precious that you would never need to hurt yourself again,” he said, his entire manner stiff, though he sounded rather approving of himself. “Somehow,” he added, his tone dropping into clear disappointment, “I think my love has simply made it worse.”

“Atobe…”

Just as suddenly as Fuji had learned he did not want to die, he realized something vital as he felt Atobe pulling away from him. “I love you,” he confessed—but he couldn’t lie. “Not just you. I love Yukimura, I love Saeki… Maybe I even love Kirihara a little, and as much as I try to deny it, I know I love Tezuka…” Though he had started out with the purpose of placating Atobe, trying to give his boyfriend a reason to stay, he came to a rather dismal conclusion. The words tumbling out of his mouth sounded cruel, even to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve-”

“-Me? Of course you don’t,” Atobe snapped, the anger in his eyes intense enough to burn. “No-one deserves me. That was a slow conclusion for a supposed tensai, but I’m not dating you because you deserve me. Love has nothing to do with deserving.”

“I-” 

“Can you imagine how it’s going to look, you walking beside me while you’re still healing from this?” Atobe sighed with a dramatic flair, throwing his hands up in the air. Once more, he turned to contemplation of the roses, apparently unsatisfied with their arrangement. “I can hardly stand the thought of it but it won’t stop me from loving you and it won’t keep me away. I’ve known for a long time that you couldn’t inflict half of those scars on yourself. I knew there was someone else, and I knew you loved Tezuka.” Now, he glanced slyly at Fuji. “It doesn’t even matter that it doesn’t stop at that. You could be dating half of Fudomine for all I care and I wouldn’t stop loving you.” He dropped his pretense with the roses, placing his hands firmly on the dresser and pointedly not looking at the tensai. “What matters is that I do not like to see you hurt-” Finally, he faced Fuji full on again, his voice determined and his glare so intense that it gave Fuji surprisingly pleasant shivers. “-and I will not be satisfied until I break this habit of yours. If that means fighting Yukimura—or anyone else—for you, then that is exactly what I will do.”

Atobe lingered for a moment after the tirade that had begun as a trivial complaint, and then promptly walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Fuji stared vacantly after him, unable to believe what had just occurred. He wasn’t sure if he was cursed, or extremely lucky.


	7. Some of them Want to Abuse You

“Aka~aya…”

Kirihara shuddered, and not nearly imperceptibly enough.

“Something worrying you?” Yukimura asked, his fingers gliding across Kirihara’s back from one shoulder to the next. “There’s no need for that. We’ll get you out of here.”

Oh, that’s what Kirihara was afraid of. Once there were no police around to protect him from the volatile captain, he was going to be in trouble…

“You should be very proud of yourself, Akaya. Even though you disobeyed me, encroached on my territory, and lost control…” Yukimura seemed to stray from the point for a moment before recovering. “…You saved Fuji’s life, today.”

“I didn’t know Fuji was yours. I wasn’t looking for him or anything-”

“Oh, I know you weren’t. You were just trying to test me by getting as far from Rikkaidai as possible even though I insisted that you actually attend class. I’m not pleased about that, Akaya.”

“-And that bastard earned a good beating after what he did!” Kirihara finished bravely. “I’m not sorry he got what he deserved!”

“Neither am, I, Akaya, but that-” The fact that Yukimura was using Kirihara’s given name in almost every sentence was worrying… “Was what I meant by 'encroaching on my territory.' You should have left Akutsu to me.”

“I-”

“And I never said Fuji was mine, Akaya…”

Oh, shit.

*

Kirihara gasped for breath, simply trying to breathe through the pressure Yukimura was placing on his throat. He was pressed up against a wall by his shockingly strong captain, almost having the life choked out of him—but he knew better than to resist.

Yukimura wouldn’t kill him (he hoped), so it was safer just to wait until the captain’s fury abated. Hopefully Kirihara wouldn’t pass out before then…

“How long have you known?”

“A—a couple of months!” Kirihara hissed, his throat aching as his adam’s apple bobbed against the restraining hand.

Yukimura finally released him. “How?”

“I…”

“How?”

A kick to the stomach.

“I found him!” Kirihara answered hastily. “… In the public toilets… Trying to kill himself.”

“Elaborate,” Yukimura ordered dangerously, his tongue rolling over the syllables in an almost sexual manner.

“He was trying to slash his wrists. I stopped him.”

“You did?” Yukimura asked, somewhat skeptically. “Since when do you care if someone wants to die?”

Kirihara avoided his captain's gaze, unwilling to give away his weakness but… it was Yukimura. 

“He looked so sad… It was beautiful.”

Yukimura growled.

“Oh, stop acting as if you’re surprised!” Kirihara snapped, momentarily forgetting who he was dealing with in the face of his own embarrassment. “You already know I fucked him! All you really wanna know is why.”

Kirihara didn’t even get a chance to breathe before he was slapped so hard it felt like he’d been decked. The sting left behind brought tears to his eyes after only a moment. Damn, but Yukimura was strong for such a puny-looking guy.

“I don’t doubt that Fuji loves you,” Kirihara stubbornly went on by way of explanation. He looked back at Yukimura, his hand pressed to his aching cheek. “But you weren’t what he needed then. You punish him for what he’s done wrong. I make him the victim, and sometimes that’s just what he wants.”

“So you’re no better than that bastard you left lying comatose in the hospital!” Yukimura snarled, slamming Kirihara against the wall once again, this time pinning him by the shoulders.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Kirihara replied. He’d already let the devil out of its cage, so he might as well address it face to face instead of cowering. “Fuji has never once asked me to stop. If he did, I would. I’ve never hurt him physically other than a little rough sex and I wouldn’t want to.”

“You’re lying.” Yukimura’s head was hanging so low that Kirihara couldn’t see beyond the sheet of hair obscuring it. “Fuji doesn’t need to cut himself. He has me for that. He’s not suicidal because he has me! He doesn’t need you to fuck him because he has ME!”

Kirihara’s eyes widened as Yukimura’s head snapped up, tears trickling down his flushed cheeks. 

“Buchou…” he whispered.

He’d always assumed it was barely more than a sexual relationship for Yukimura. The captain was possessive and more than a little brutal according to Fuji’s scars, but apparently there was so much more to it than that.

Suddenly, Yukimura slumped, going weak. He hung off of Kirihara, crying.

Unsure of how to react, Kirihara held him uncomfortably, wishing he knew what he was supposed to say.

*

Yukimura really wasn’t entirely sure what his problem was. So Fuji was cheating on him a little. So what?

Kirihara had said it himself. There was no doubt that Fuji loved him. No matter what, the tensai would always return to Yukimura, so what was he blubbering about?

Perhaps seeing Fuji so weak, so… frail, so beaten… Perhaps the shock was finally sinking in. Yukimura hadn’t acknowledged the little tug in his chest when he’d first taken in Fuji’s altered appearance but he recognized it now. It was fear.

He didn’t want to lose Fuji. He didn’t want Fuji to leave him by his own hands, or anyone else’s.

Yukimura was pathetic. He’d scolded Kirihara for losing control, but he’d just proven that beneath his placid, peaceful mask, he could lost control faster than anyone else. Just a touch of emotion, just the little anger that he’d allowed in order to frighten Kirihara into talking… Just that much and he’d spiraled so rapidly out of control, his emotions seizing him after so long in suppression.

*

Kirihara didn’t want to see his captain cry. Especially not if it was his fault in any way. He never wanted to make Yukimura cry.

But what could he do? He wasn’t the most eloquent with words. He didn’t do well in comforting people.

“Buchou… Please, stop crying,” he begged quietly. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not all that hard,” a deep voice instructed, approaching through the dark.

Kirihara flinched as Yukimura was dragged out of his arms and into those of…

“Fuku-buchou,” he breathed.

The vice captain pulled Yukimura tightly against his chest, rocking the crying figure as though he’d done so many times.

“Shhh, Yuki. Fuji’s alright now, and he’s not going anywhere. You’ll see. I’ll take you home, and you can get some rest, and everything will be fine in the morning,” Sanada crooned.

Kirihara stared in shock, suddenly seeing a whole knew side to his vice captain that he didn’t entirely want to be witness to. He almost jumped when Sanada’s gaze met his own.

“You’ve caused our captain a lot of trouble today, Akaya. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

Kirihara swallowed and nodded nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, mostly to himself. 

“When Fuji heals,” Yukimura rasped into Sanada’s chest, “I’m going to kill him. Then I’m going to screw his corpse until I’m satisfied.”

“Ew,” Kirihara muttered, even as Sanada grimaced in distaste.

“Calm down, Yuki. I’m taking you home now,” he soothed, stroking short, wavy hair. “Worry about Fuji tomorrow.”

Kirihara watched Sanada lead a trembling Yukimura in the direction they both lived. He wanted to follow and try and talk to Yukimura, but he knew a bad idea when it was going to get him killed…


	8. Some of them Want to be Abused

At first, Yukimura had been grateful to Sanada for his fortuitously good thinking. The captain had been subconsciously aware of his ‘stalker’ of the previous day—though Yukimura hadn’t consciously noted his shadow. It was enough to be aware that he was being watched and thus that there was a safety net should something go drastically wrong—like his temper.

However, despite Sanada’s timely interference with Kirihara, Yukimura was beginning to get irritated. Sanada had directly interfered in both subtle and blatant ways to ensure that Yukimura not only attended school but that he stayed for the whole day, for practice, and for several hours afterward. He was keeping Yukimura from Fuji, and that was dangerous.

Even Kirihara, who had been somewhat jumpy throughout practice, had been smart enough to stay far, far out of the blast radius. Sanada, however, seemed oblivious.

“I think if we split up the doubles teams for a while and force them to practice not only singles but also on training in other pairs, we could maximize-” Sanada’s lecture was interrupted by the squeal of well-kept nails crawling down the windowpane. He looked up, noted Yukimura’s unmistakably black mood, and then turned his attention back to his notes. “-security in the event of injury or unexpected opposing line-up. Besides, Yagyuu-” There was a painful sounding snap—the pencil in Yukimura’s other hand now in splinters. “Buchou,” Sanada began, pointedly using the title rather than his close friend’s name, “I understand that you want to visit Fuji-san in the hospital, but team matters must come first.”

“Of course.” CRACK! “I wouldn’t dream of having it any other way.” The pencil was now in thirds.

Sanada sighed. “Fine,” he finally acquiesced. “Have it your way.”

“I will,” Yukimura replied.

“Yuki,” the vice captain protested, his voice both softly reprimanding and exasperated. 

“I’ve put up with your interference all day, Genichirou, and I have just about had enough. Your jealousy-” Yukimura spat the word with disgusted vehemence “-is petty. Hiding behind ‘team matters’ is a cowardly thing to-”

Frankly put, Sanada’s limit of patience was just not that high—not even for Yukimura. “I’m not the one who’s acting like a child!” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the table as he quickly rose to his feet, making a mental note of the rapid exodus of the rest of the regulars. “Get a hold of yourself, Yukimura! Your mood swings are seriously impairing your judgment and your capacity to act as captain. I respect you as much, if not far more than, anyone else but right now you are not in control. If I had let you go running off to Fuji this morning, the hospital itself would probably be in ruins by now. Insulting and hurting me is not improving matters. All I want is to protect those involved, including Fuji, and especially YOU!”

“He’s cheating on me! I have the right to-”

“To what?” Sanada challenged, earning a momentary pause long enough for him to jump in again before the captain found his tongue. “If you recklessly attack him over this, you will sorely regret it. I know you. You’ll hurt Fuji, and worse, you’ll hurt yourself, and then you’ll be lost. Fuji is not the only one at fault—though I daresay that neither is Akaya as guilty as he looks. Before you go charging into a hospital room, I suggest you seriously contemplate what it is Fuji found so lacking in you that he was driven to seek it in someone else.”

Yukimura’s eyes blazed with wild fury though his expression was tightly controlled almost to the point of calm. “How dare… Are you suggesting that-”

“That it’s your fault?” Sanada clarified bravely. “Yes. As well as that of Fuji, and Akaya, and-” He abruptly cut off.

“And?” Yukimura asked, his sharp instincts causing his voice to drop to an intense and frightening whisper.

“Nothing. I got ahead of myself,” Sanada waffled. “The point is-”

“If you know something, Genichirou, then god help you if you don’t tell me now,” Yukimura threatened—no longer out of control though his focused anger was far more fearsome. 

Sanada’s Adam’s apple bobbed subtly as he swallowed, his eyes wavering briefly in a momentary lack of conviction. That was all Yukimura needed, and Sanada knew it.

Aware that he’d already given away far too much and that Yukimura would drag the answer out of him if that meant literally dragging him over hot coals, Sanada quickly made the only viable decision.

“It’s not just Akaya,” he said quietly. There was dead silence, and for the next part of the confession, Sanada stared straight down at the table, not even attempting to meet Yukimura’s eyes. “Rather… the matter concerning Akaya is nothing in comparison… to the scale of the relationship between Fuji-san and Atobe, Keigo.”

*crunch*

Nothing but splinters remained of the pencil clenched in Yukimura’s fist.

*

Tezuka had visited again early in the morning before school and Fuji had woken from a long, deep sleep to see his captain’s expression of distaste regarding Atobe’s roses.

“I think they’re quite lovely,” Fuji had said quietly, a slight smile on his face in memory of Atobe’s adorably possessive behavior. His words alerted Tezuka to the fact that he was awake.

Turning his attention to Fuji, Tezuka had pointedly avoided any talk of any of Fuji’s lovers or any other potentially straining conversation by ignoring Fuji’s comment and the fact that he had obviously taken note of Atobe’s little bouquet… Instead, they chatted lightly about the team, lingering on the matter of Echizen for a while. The rookie made for good conversation, after all.

Following a not-so-long but pleasant talk, the captain bid Fuji a good day and excused himself to attend training, for which he was running late as it was. 

Fuji returned to sleep and was barely disturbed for the day aside from taking care of essential needs such as feeding and excretion. The strong medication he was on played a heavy hand in that lethargy.

Once more, Fuji woke to see someone regarding the roses. It was his brother.

Yuuta didn’t stay long once he realized that Fuji was awake. He blushed quite cutely in response to the tensai’s cheerful smile, stayed long enough to stutter a get well wish, and then was gone.

It put Fuji in quite a nice mood. After all, Yuuta had probably come all this way just to make sure Fuji was okay.

A little later, during dinner, he received a third visitor, though not the one he had been expecting, dreading, and yet longing for.

“You look well rested,” Atobe greeted.

Amazingly, he swept the first bouquet of twenty roses off the desk, replacing it with a fresh one—both white and red with sprigs of a lovely white bloom that Fuji couldn’t name through the fuzziness in his head.

“I’ve had enough rest for a lifetime,” Fuji answered, smiling at the ridiculously expensive assortment of flowers.

To his surprise, Atobe leaned down and very gently and carefully kissed him on bruised lips. When Fuji tried to deepen the kiss, Atobe pulled away.

“Whether you can feel it or not, through that-” he flicked a glance up at the drip “-I refuse to cater to your masochistic streak.”

“Shame,” Fuji replied cheekily, feeling a little more like himself after a full day of rest.

Pulling up the visitors’ chair, Atobe was all business, even as he ran a finger down Fuji’s jaw-line. “I’ve been too complacent,” he announced. “I let our relationship focus too strongly on superiority and subservience. While I certainly enjoy it, as—I’m sure—do you, I have no wish to isolate other aspects of my feelings toward you, nor to allow you to do the same. Now is as good a time as any for a well-needed change in our relationship.” Atobe’s eyes stared directly into his, and he continued in his most authoritative tone. “If you don’t like it, then you’ll deal with it—and that’s an order.”

Fuji, despite it all, could not help but be amused. The ‘Master’ role was simply so inherent in Atobe that he even resorted to it while trying to limit its place in their relationship. He really was just too much…

“Yes, Master,” Fuji replied, a smirk playing around his lips.

“Don’t you dare take that tone with Ore-sama,” Atobe sneered, and Fuji re-arranged his expression into something more serious—and less defiant.

“Yes, Master,” he said, again, his eyes dutifully downcast.

Meanwhile, he was rapidly calculating what other effects Atobe expected of his little amendment. Surely he realized that reducing the fetish aspect of their relationship would only increase Fuji’s need of Yukimura. Ah, but that was probably what Atobe was aiming for—in a way. Very clever.

He must have deduced that by taking away the similar scale of emotion and fetish between the two simultaneous relationships, the emotion to be emphasized in their new… contract would lure Fuji to him and away from the harsher aspects of his relationship with Yukimura. Whilst potentially raising the threat from Yukimura, if only for a limited period of time, Atobe was focusing more strongly on diverting Fuji’s feelings for Tezuka.

It was a good plan.

Would it work? Fuji hadn’t a clue, but he could play along.

Unfortunately, any further discussion or contemplation of the matter was cut short as a livid Yukimura swept through the door, slamming it roughly. 

The moment he spotted Atobe, he halted, his manner calming immediately, though the danger transferred from a furious storm to the cool glinting of a sharpened knife edge in his eyes—and his teeth, as he smiled unaccountably viciously.

Fuji was unable to repress a fearful shiver. Yukimura knew. 

Somehow, he knew.


	9. Sweet Dreams...

“Someone really should see to the pest problem infesting this institution,” Yukimura remarked amiably, his eyes on Atobe. “Fuji, it seems that whenever I try to visit you, there are unwanted vermin hovering about. Perhaps you would lodge my complaint with the front desk on your way out, Atobe-kun?”

“Certainly—when I leave,” Atobe agreed, strongly implying that he had no intention of doing so within the immediate sphere of time.

“Of course.” A twitch contorted Yukimura’s features for a split second before he politely thanked the Hyoutei captain.

Fuji’s voice came out thinner than he’d hoped. “Yukim-”

The captain of Rikkaidai snapped a glare so cold at Fuji that even the brave and generally unshakable tensai fell silent.

The three of them were suspended in a bubble of tension that only grew more intense by the second. Electricity seemed to crackle through the air at an exceedingly sluggish pace, and Fuji was not game enough to try and dispel it. Nor could he tear his eyes from Yukimura.

Atobe’s deep voice broke the tense silence, though not the tension. In fact, that only increased.

“If you harm him,” he began warningly, instantly intuiting the situation, “I’ll kill you,” he said unremorsefully, pinning Yukimura with his pale eyes that could seem so like ice.

“Surely you’re aware of Fuji’s… unique needs,” Yukimura replied sweetly, slowly advancing with an almost unthreatening air—however, the murderous intention in his thinly veiled eyes betrayed that impression.

“Awareness and acceptance are not one and the same,” Atobe replied, his body subtly tensed to move though he did not vacate his chair.

“Then you’re a pest and a fool,” Yukimura assessed, smiling almost sympathetically. “I’ll give to Fuji what he wants and needs.”

Slowly, Atobe rose to his feet, turning his back on Fuji as if he’d forgotten the tensai’s presence. “Obviously you haven’t been as successful in providing that as you claim—or so I gather from Fuji’s self-inflicted wounds.”

“I will never allow Fuji to commit suicide, do you hear me?” Yukimura snarled, his eyes flashing. “He’s mine, and no-one—nothing will take him from me!”

Atobe laughed derisively. “That false sense of possession is exactly what will drive him from you soon enough,” he declared confidently. He brushed past Yukimura, but paused without turning around. “I mean it. If you harm him any further, I ‘will’ kill you,” he said, before composedly exiting the room.

Yukimura seethed after him, his nails curled up into his fists and biting into the tennis-roughened flesh.

Belatedly, he seemed to remember Fuji’s presence, and spun to face the tensai. His eyes swept over the battered body before him, taking in Fuji’s condition.

Unexpectedly, his fury seemed to abate as he observed Fuji’s sorry state. Finally, his eyes flicked up to the tensai’s warily watching blue gaze.

“He’s insufferable,” Yukimura muttered blandly.

“You’re biased,” Fuji replied very quietly, wary of Yukimura’s sudden, relative calm.

“As well I have right to be,” the captain hissed. “You have a great deal to answer for.”

*

Atobe wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing, leaving Fuji alone with Yukimura—especially when it was obvious that the Rikkaidai captain was aware of Fuji’s transgressions. However, he trusted both that Fuji could take care of himself and that he was right outside should Fuji so much as utter a yelp of pain.

He was not at all happy with the situation, and certainly had not forgiven Fuji. However, the tensai needed to deal with Yukimura. Atobe could not simply pretend that his rival did not exist. How could he force Fuji to abruptly end something that had undoubtedly been going on for a long while without expecting to lose his lover in the process? The situation had to be dealt with adhering to care and tact.

If that meant he had to allow Fuji the freedom to continue such a dalliance with Yukimura, then he would. He was determined to end the dependency the tensai had developed on pain and punishment, even if that meant enduring it for a little longer.

Mourning his role in the acquisition of such a need, Atobe was doing his best to right it. He enjoyed their games and the odd manner of their relationship, but if it was nudging Fuji into an undesirable mental state, then Atobe could live without it. Now, if he could just convince Fuji ‘he’ could live with it…

*

With the very opposite of Atobe’s gentle care, Yukimura roughly grabbed Fuji’s collar and kissed him hard, the captain forcing his tongue into Fuji’s mouth.

The tensai’s eyes instantly overflowed, a whimper of pain slipping unheard between Yukimura’s lips. His eyes were screwed up and his hands floundering at his sides before clenching into fists in an effort to divert some of his tension. He couldn’t scream. Atobe would hear.

And then he was released, collapsing agonizingly onto the mattress, his ribs grinding along with his teeth in masking the pain.

“I’ll never heal at this rate,” he muttered, mostly to himself as he reached out and fingered the toggle that would flood his system with a fresh dose of oblivion.

Yukimura’s eyes moved into his line of his vision, coldly furious.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, slurring slightly and smiling his customary smile.

Yukimura’s sharp nails came up under his chin, lifting it at a highly uncomfortable angle and cutting into the soft flesh. Damn Fuji’s slow, drug-addled mind—but he needed the relief!

Yukimura forced his chin higher and a spasm of agony rippled through Fuji’s body as the slowly inflicted misalignment caused his cracked ribs to protest along with many other injuries. He bit his lips to restrain a cry, instead releasing a desperate whimper, unable to help himself.

To his surprise, Yukimura let him go.

*

Only when Fuji’s agonized whimper sounded in his ears did Yukimura realize what he was doing. There was a difference between pleasurable or even merciful pain and vindictively inflicted pain, and he had definitely crossed that line.

Suddenly it was like something clicked in him. It was like he had been in a haze from the moment Sanada had told him—no, from the moment he had stumbled across Akaya’s confession the night before.

“You deserve every ounce of punishment,” Yukimura told the silently weeping tensai, none-the-less.

With more gentleness than he felt he had, Yukimura reached out and wiped away Fuji’s tears. He answered the tensai’s wounded and questioning expression with a witheringly disappointed look.

“I know you’ve been deceiving me—not only with Atobe, but with my own Akaya. I don’t wish to see your untimely demise due to mishandling—but I am in no way satisfied or ready to forgive.”

“The truth,” Fuji offered in a thin, strained voice. “Is that I love you and everything you do to me.”

“Then cut ties with Atobe this minute,” Yukimura demanded without wasting a moment.

Fuji shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said, feeling very light-headed. “I love him, too.” 

“He doesn’t understand, Fuji,” Yukimura breathed almost kindly. “You need what I inflict. You can’t live without me, anymore.”

“I know,” Fuji whispered.

He only closed his eyes for a moment but when he noticed that the covers had been shifted, at least a minute had to have passed. Yukimura was on the bed, pushing up Fuji’s hospital gown.

He wanted to say that he didn’t think he could get hard with so much morphine in his system but he was surprised to find that he already was. Yukimura seemed quite self satisfied as he smirked up at Fuji as if reading the tensai’s mind. Then, he bent over the head of Fuji’s cock, attacking it with only pleasure in mind and none of the usual inflictions.

He didn’t need them.

The reaction of Fuji’s existing injuries to his body twisting in pleasure provided a perfect stimulus of pain. Well, whatever could penetrate the strong pain killer…

Somehow, his partially numb body was roused by Yumikura’s unrelenting ministrations. No teasing, no foreplay. Yukimura’s aim was to bring Fuji to as swift and powerful an orgasm as possible.

Fuji’s injured body was wracked with spasms of pleasure and pain as he came hard around Yukimura’s tongue which continued to flicker against his sensitive slit even as the orgasm subsided. 

Within moments, Fuji was all but comatose, so deeply asleep that he wasn’t even woken by the entering nurse’s shrieks of protest.

*

“You’re misunderstanding,” Yukimura soothed, his expression set in the most pleasant smile he could manage. “My boyfriend was in pain, so I simply gave him a pleasant alternative.”

“Y-your boyfriend?” the nurse gasped, temporarily distracted.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” cried Atobe, bursting into the room like the inferior bug that he was. “Yukimura, what have you done?”

Atobe’s eyes instantly went to Fuji—the evidence of the tensai’s orgasm still coating his groin. Yukimura never swallowed.

The Hyoutei captain’s eyes narrowed with fury, but Yukimura’s smile didn’t waver. He felt oddly calm and in control. Atobe was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“I-it’s nothing,” the nurse amended quickly. “I was mistaken.”

“I doubt that,” Atobe stated in his cool, confident way as he stared directly into Yukimura’s eyes. “I’ll bet he said he was Fuji’s boyfriend.”

The nurse floundered a little, obviously unsure of how to reply but neither Atobe nor Yukimura were at all interested in her. The former was moving forward with a certain dangerous grace whilst the latter patiently awaited his advance.

“Naturally,” Yukimura murmured in agreement.

“Well, then, he lied,” Atobe replied. “As Ore-sama IS Ore-sama, Ore-sama is the only one that matters, and so Ore-sama is the only boyfriend Fuji has and will remain so—especially once this scum is removed from the equation.”

Yukimura both expected and anticipated the connection of Atobe’s fist to his face, and yet, somehow the punch landed despite his quick reflexes. However, his retaliation was no less reliable, leaving bloody tracks across Atobe’s cheek and skin under Yukimura’s nails.

Both hissed in pain and anger, but it was Yukimura who regained his tongue first.

“I think you’ll find, Atobe, that Fuji will choose me, after all. He will choose the one who satisfies his desires AND his fears. He will choose the one who both verifies and mollifies his existence. HE will choose ME and you will be left behind like the insignificant parasite you are.”

Atobe made to react, but the nurse had come to her senses and shrieked for security during Yukimura’s little rant, and the Hyoutei captain found himself restrained, with Yukimura soon to follow. 

The two were escorted, silent and fuming, out of the hospital, and banned from returning under threat of arrest.

*

Meanwhile, a certain captain of Seigaku bid goodnight to the boy he had visited during Yukimura’s assured absence.


	10. Are Made of These

“You cheated on me.”

Silence.

“That is not acceptable.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not!” Yukimura snapped.

He had been fluctuating between anger, depression, and antipathy for a whole day, and had finally made his move to slip back into the hospital and face the one causing his suffering.

“I am,” Fuji argued, his impossibly wounded eyes lifting to meet Yukimura’s.

“Don’t give me that look,” Yukimura spat in disgust, turning away from Fuji. He couldn’t help feeling a tug of sympathy in response to that expression but in his current frame of mind, that only fueled his anger. “You betrayed me.”

Fuji’s whimpers of pain alerted Yukimura and he turned back to see the tensai struggling out of bed. Fuji took half a step and began to collapse, groaning in agony as Yukimura caught him out of reflex over concern.

Fuji just tightened his grip, burying his face in Yukimura’s chest.

“I love you,” he whimpered. “I can’t live without you. Please forgive me.”

“No.” Yukimura replied coldly, but he didn’t push the injured tensai away. “Not until you end every other relationship.”

“I can’t,” Fuji sighed, his voice the very sound of defeat. “I can’t.”

“You need help,” Yukimura muttered derogatorily, his eyes narrowed in resistance to Fuji’s utter helplessness.

“Well so do you!” Fuji returned with more energy than Yukimura thought possible. “I know that there’s plenty wrong with me. I’m aware of it all, but you’re not. You don’t think that maybe you’re a little sick, too?”

Rage flared and Yukimura wound one arm tightly—painfully—around weak the tensai’s waist, holding him up. With the other hand, he took Fuji’s wrist and slowly turned it to expose the white mass of scars that were no longer covered by sleeves or sweatbands.

“Since when do you have a problem with that?” Yukimura asked through tightly clenched teeth. “And since when do you talk back to me?” he added as an after-thought.

The truth was that Fuji’s outburst terrified him. Never had Fuji ever talked to him like that. It meant that Yukimura was losing control, and losing control meant losing Fuji.

The tensai winced in pain as Yukimura’s nails dug mercilessly into the scarred flesh of his wrist. “I just… want you to understand… why,” Fuji panted through the pain.

Yukimura pushed him roughly away, onto the bed.

“I understand that everything we had was a lie. I understand that I opened myself up to you, and I understand that I TRUSTED you! I understand that you don’t care about my feelings and that you don’t consider me ENOUGH to satisfy your perversity!”

*

Fuji’s eyes widened as he finally came to understand something. 

Yukimura truly loved him. 

Without noticing, he’d gotten through years of walls, barriers, and defenses, and opened up Yukimura’s raw, unwary heart. And now that heart lay bleeding before him, torn and abused.

“Are you going to leave me?” he whimpered, ever selfish. 

He didn’t want to return to the days of hiding away in his bathroom with a razor, of eyeing his mother’s sleeping pills in the cupboard when he brushed his teeth, of crying himself to sleep alone at night because he couldn’t go to Atobe with freshly cut wrists.

It was true that he still sometimes cut himself, but not for the same reasons, and not nearly as often. Yukimura’s pain was far more controlled than his own, and far less dangerous. Since being with Yukimura, he didn’t feel the need to kill himself anymore—not on a daily basis.

There were a lot of things wrong with their relationship, with all of Fuji’s relationships, but he couldn’t deny that every one of them provided him with something he needed to go on living, and perhaps he needed Yukimura’s kind of love most of all.

As Fuji came to these realizations, Yukimura seemed to consider his question for a long time, his face a blank mask as he stared at Fuji’s eyes.

Finally, he turned away with a murmured, “No, I’m not going to leave you.”

*

As he made to leave, Yukimura berated himself for his weakness but he couldn’t match Fuji in this instance. He wasn’t prepared to give up the tensai but he did NOT like the idea of sharing. He wasn’t getting anywhere bearing his emotions on an open platter, though, so it was better to quit before he fell too far behind. He needed to regroup—to gain control of himself and draw up a plan of action.

“Yukimura,” called the soft voice from behind him. He didn’t turn to face Fuji. “I broke the rules. I’m sorry.”

That, they would discuss later.

*

Tezuka thought over the night previous to last as he dressed to visit Fuji at the hospital. That night he had finished his homework early—rushed through it, in fact. An idea had been planted in his mind that he couldn’t shake, so he’d decided to follow through with it.

After finishing his school work, he was able to find out from Rikkaidai’s Vice Captain Sanada that Yukimura had gone to the hospital. 

That left Kirihara unguarded.

Him, Tezuka needed to talk to most of all. There wasn’t much point in talking to Atobe, and Tezuka wasn’t ready to face Yukimura just yet. He wanted to find out where Kirihara stood, whether there had been something to him saving Fuji, or if it had been just a whim. Did Kirihara care?

The answer had clearly been ‘yes.’ Oh, he hadn’t quite said as much but it wasn’t hard to figure out.

“Why haven’t you been to visit him?” Tezuka had asked.

“Buchou forbid it, so I won’t,” Kirihara replied, though he had sounded miserable and made a point of not meeting Tezuka’s eyes.

Kirihara would obey his captain—for now, if not forever—but he didn’t want to. He wanted to see Fuji for himself.

“Tezuka.”

The captain looked up in surprise—he had been absorbed in locking his front door—to see Atobe standing at the end of his driveway. Raising his eyebrows, he walked toward his rival.

“Did you want something, Atobe?” he asked calmly, not showing his surprise at Atobe’s appearance at his house on a Saturday morning.

“Ore-sama,” Atobe began, practically grinding his teeth, “has been refused entry to the hospital,” he explained.

“Oh?” Tezuka asked, his insides pricking with curiosity though he kept it from his voice and expression.

“Ore-sama had a little spat… with Rikkaidai’s beloved bitch-queen.”

Now Tezuka did raise his eyebrows. He’d never heard Atobe sound so… vicious before. Composedly cruel, yes, but not vicious.

“I hadn’t heard,” Tezuka muttered. “And?” he prompted when Atobe didn’t continue.

“I want you to give something to Fuji for me,” Atobe told him, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Take it yourself,” Tezuka replied, turning to shut the gate.

“I just told you, I can’t,” Atobe replied, in smooth tones with clipped ends. He was obviously a little highly strung of late.

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Tezuka snorted, intending to ignore the diva and continue on his way.

“My father found out. He has me under surveillance,” Atobe blurted out of annoyance. “I can’t get anywhere near the hospital, I’ve tried! And I’m sure that Yukimura has no such restrictions.”

“Why should I run your errands for you?” Tezuka asked, meeting Atobe’s eyes, and daring the rival captain to give him a good reason to say no.

“Because I—unlike Yukimura—would see Fuji safe, happy, and unhurt. Ore-sama does not approve of mutilation; self inflicted, or otherwise. All you have to do is give Fuji a note.”

“Fine,” Tezuka agreed, holding out his hand as he began to walk down the street to the bus stop. He wasn't sure why Atobe assumed he knew everything but it was a correct enough assumption so he let it slide.

Atobe followed as expected, pulling out a lovely envelope that smelled like the sea to match its design. No doubt expensive stationary.

“I have your word he will see it?” Atobe asked, hesitating in handing the envelope over to Tezuka.

“He’ll see it. Whether he reads it or not is up to him,” Tezuka replied, taking the note and folding it. He ignored Atobe’s scowl and pushed it into his pocket. A little crease never hurt anyone…

*

Tezuka sighed, his hand slipping into his pocket once again to feel the letter hidden away there. It wasn't that he was reconsidering giving it to Fuji, but rather, trying to figure out what it meant. What was it that Atobe wanted to say? Perhaps Tezuka should protect his friend and read the letter just to make sure it was safe... No, that would be abusing Fuji's trust—and Atobe's. Not that Tezuka felt particularly obliged to humor Atobe, but he was beginning to see another side to this rival, one that was probably a result of his relationship with the tensai.

And there was what Tezuka understood least of all. Fuji.

How could someone he had known for so long, and supposedly so well, have been hiding so much? How could Fuji be the type of person to set his own needs so high above everyone else's to the point where he betrayed just about everyone around him?

Those were the kinds of thoughts Tezuka tried hard to avoid but it was so difficult. Worse, were the conflicting thoughts that danced around Tezuka's mind almost constantly. 

If Fuji was seeing so many people, would just one more hurt? Maybe he could convince Fuji that he was all the tensai needed. Those kinds of selfish, twisted thoughts were not something Tezuka was used to, but despite what some might say, he was human and he was entitled to them. Instead of being disgusted by Fuji's behavior, his previously dormant interest in the tensai was perversely peaked. More than ever, he wanted to be by Fuji's side. For the first time, he truly wondered what it would be like to be able to hold and kiss Fuji. He wondered what it would be like to spend a night sleeping by Fuji's side and waking up in the morning to the sight of the tensai's peacefully sleeping face or waking smile.

He wanted those things, but at the same time, he was coming to understand that that was not reality. Maybe Atobe and Yukimura had a taste of those things but that wasn't what Fuji wanted from them, was it? And that was what drove everything in this twisted little universe of relationships; Fuji's wants and Fuji's needs. Tezuka still couldn't believe that what Fuji wanted deep in his heart was to be abused. Maybe what he really wanted and needed was to believe that he didn't deserve to be hurt, to believe that he deserved to be loved. But just telling him that would accomplish nothing. For Fuji to believe it, he would have to discover it for himself. Tezuka didn't know how to make that happen. He didn't know why Fuji was so harsh on himself in the first place. Without that knowledge, there was nothing he could do.

Purposefully, Tezuka lifted his hand from his pocket as he entered the hospital. For now, he was just going to check on Fuji and make sure the tensai knew he was there as friend and council. No matter what, he was going to help the Fuji through this, whether the tensai wanted it or not.

That was the plan, but such a plan kind of relied on Fuji being where he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, he was not.


	11. They Say, "Everybody's..."

Thankfully, Fuji was a fast healer—he had to be. His face was already looking relatively normal. He'd 'borrowed' a little make-up from a nurse to hide what hadn't yet healed. Unfortunately, his internal injuries weren't as quick to improve. Most were at the irritable stage but his broken ribs were somewhat of a problem. Still, broken ribs were preferable to broken legs. He just had to be careful, bandage them up nice and tight, and try not to jostle them. 

In order to make good on his escape, Fuji had had to stop the morphine drip. He couldn't think clearly enough with drugs coursing through his body and making his brain fuzzy. So he endured the pain, waiting until he felt lucid enough. Then, it was a fairly simple matter to slip out of the hospital at the end of visiting hours when everyone was leaving. The timing meant that his absence would be noted rather soon, but that didn't matter. They could take as much or as little time as they liked. They wouldn't find him.

*

Tezuka waited out the nurse's apologetic explanation that Fuji had disappeared some time the night before and that his whereabouts were currently unknown to the hospital. He nodded as he inwardly ignored her reassurances that the police had been alerted. Then, he turned and walked out of the hospital.

His hand dug into his pocket almost automatically, crumpling up the letter there as the only outlet for his frustration. Why the hell didn't he have Atobe's phone number? If there was anyone who could find Fuji, if there was anyone with the resources, Atobe was it. All Tezuka had to do was find Atobe. It was a weekend, so he wouldn't be at school—or would he? Training, perhaps? No, Atobe had been dressed formally, as though for a function. 

Maybe, if Tezuka went to the Atobe residence, he could find out—no, there was an easier way. Tezuka pulled out his cell phone and flicked through for Oshitari, Yuushi's number. Their mothers had been acquainted so Tezuka had Oshitari's contact details, even if he had never used them before. Oshitari would know Atobe's number, and Atobe would be able to find Fuji.

"Moshi moshi."

"Oshitari-san? This is Tezuka, Kunimitsu, from Seishun Gakuen."

"Tezuka-san?" There was a surprised pause. "Can I help you with something?"

"I need Atobe's cell phone number."

"I can't just give out private-"

"This is important. Fuji's missing and Atobe might be the only one who can find him."

"Fuji?" Oshitari's voice changed rather drastically. Apparently he knew at least the basics. "I'll give you the number."

After typing the number into his address book, Tezuka thanked Oshitari and then hung up. As he did so, he realized he was trembling. He paused, suddenly feeling rather weak. What was he going to do if they couldn't find Fuji? What if... what if Fuji really did kill himself this time? What if his injuries caused some kind of accident? 

That wasn't acceptable. Tezuka wasn't ready to lose Fuji no matter how different his friend seemed now. They had to find Fuji. They just had to.

"Aa?"

Tezuka started in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd pressed the call button.

"Atobe? It's Tezuka."

"Did you give Fuji my... What's wrong?" Naturally, Atobe was quick-minded. It didn't take him long to figure out that the only reason Tezuka would be calling him would have to revolve around Fuji, and not in a good way.

"He's gone. He's not at the hos-" Tezuka hated himself as his voice broke and tears began to slip down his cheeks. He felt like he'd already lost Fuji somehow; like he hadn't been vigilant enough, and now he would never see Fuji again. "-hospital."

"What do you mean he's not there? He's not well enough to move around!"

"I know. I have to find him. I-"

"Yukimura."

"What?"

\- beep - beep - beep -

In a matter of moments, memories of Yukimura's familiarity with Fuji ran through Tezuka's mind; the thoughts he'd entertained about adding Yukimura to Fuji's list, the tiny shudder of fear Fuji had shown in reaction to Yukimura's words, the fury in Atobe's voice as he uttered the name of Rikkaidai's captain... He didn't understand at all but obviously Atobe thought Yukimura had something to do with Fuji's disappearance, and Tezuka didn't like that idea very much... 

Suddenly, he was running out past the front of the hospital and down the street. At first, he didn't know where he was going and ran straight past the bus stop but that gave him an idea. Rikkaidai would definitely be at practice on a Saturday, at least, according to Inui's data. Even if Yukimura was not there, finding anyone from the team would bring him a step closer to finding Yukimura—and maybe Fuji. As Tezuka checked the bus route and found he was in luck with a couple of change-overs, he tried calling Atobe again, but the Hyoutei captain had switched off his phone.

Just what the hell was going on?

Wait... Did Fuji have his cell phone? It couldn't hurt to try. Once more, Tezuka hurriedly flicked through his cell phone's address book, pressing call when he reached Fuji's name. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. Tezuka closed his phone with a controlled, precise motion, and dropped it into his pocket. At some point, the tears he'd been crying out of stress and worry had stopped, and now, unable to do anything but wait for the bus, Tezuka sagged, leaning against a post.

He wondered if he should call the team and tell them that Fuji was missing. They'd be worried. They'd search for him.

And what if one of them found him?

That was why Tezuka had been keeping the truth from them. If they saw Fuji in such a state, neither they nor Fuji would be able to handle it. It would probably destroy most of the team members to see their beloved tensai in such pain...

Just like it was destroying Tezuka. Every time he thought he was getting a handle on it, things spiraled even further out of control.

He just wanted to find Fuji. All he wanted was for Fuji to be okay. 

Suddenly, that was the only thing he could focus on. He just wanted for Fuji to be okay.

The bus came.

*

Yukimura was not impressed.

He was not impressed that anyone, let alone Atobe, would come storming onto Rikkaidai grounds on a practice day, assault him—in front of the entire team—and accuse him of stealing Fuji. Literally "stealing," as if Fuji was an expensive television...

He was less impressed when his team hesitated in defending him out of shock. It was Sanada who finally had the clarity of mind to haul the furious Atobe off of Yukimura—whose uniform was probably now stained with grass.

"What. the. HELL. do you think you're doing, Atobe?" Yukimura snarled, hardly caring that he was baring his dark side for the whole team to see.

"Where is he?" Atobe snapped, fighting disturbingly effectively against Sanada's restraint. Yagyuu and Jackal rushed to back up the vice captain, the former trying to reason with the Hyoutei captain though his words were completely ignored.

Yukimura's eyes narrowed as he considered Atobe's ranted accusation. "If Fuji is not in the hospital, then I don't know where he is," he said seriously, the implications sinking in and causing his mood to sour significantly. He was no longer just angry. Obviously, Atobe had nothing to do with the tensai's disappearance, and Yukimura knew he was innocent, which left very few options. The most likely of which was that Fuji had snuck out of the hospital himself, but to what purpose, Yukimura didn't know.

"Akaya?" he questioned quietly, his eyes shifting to the second year.

"How'd I know?" Kirihara replied, facing away, though Yukimura could see there was something off in his stance. It wasn't guilt. No. Kirihara was worried, just like Yukimura was—just like Atobe.

"Stop acting like you're innocent. You can't fool Ore-sama! Just give him back!" Atobe yelled, sagging into the arms restraining him, his head bowed and hair hanging around his face. "Just give Fuji back. He needs to heal or he won't make it. He needs to be at the hospital. Please, can't you see that much?"

"Atobe." Yukimura approached his rival, slipping his fingers under Atobe's chin and looking directly into anguished, grey eyes. "I don't have Fuji," he said quietly. "I didn't know he was missing until now. But I will find him."

There was something beautifully poetic about the tears streaking Atobe's face. They seemed so out of place on someone so proud.

Yukimura didn't care how much Atobe loved Fuji. Fuji belonged to Yukimura, even if Yukimura was the only one who understood that right now—but Fuji would understand, and so would Atobe, Tezuka, and Kirihara; and anyone else who tried to come between them. Fuji needed Yukimura. And Yukimura needed Fuji.

"Practice is off," he announced, turning to walk away. 

He didn't expect Atobe to break free of the three strong athletes holding him but thanks to the distance between them, he managed to dodge. Atobe was fast—he'd obviously studied various forms of martial arts but Yukimura had his own training to fall back on. He dodged several wild attacks, intending to make a disabling blow of his own but despite Atobe's frantic state, he left few openings. 

"Stop it!" yelled a new voice.

Atobe didn't stop. He probably no longer believed Yukimura had kidnapped Fuji but they had other debts to settle, and that's what Atobe’s eyes were set on now. His emotions had taken control. Reason had nothing to do with it.

"STOP!" 

Strong hands grabbed each of their collars and flung them apart.

"Where's Fuji?" Tezuka growled at Yukimura.

"I don't know!" the Rikkaidai captain snapped. Why did everyone assume it was his fault!?

Tezuka turned to Atobe who looked away.

"He's telling the truth. I think," Atobe admitted reluctantly.

"Then while you two are fighting, Fuji is out there, injured, doing god knows what," Tezuka pointed out, glancing between the two with a rather disappointed expression.

"Che."

Everyone turned to face Kirihara.

"What?" the ace asked defensively. "It's not that hard to guess what he's thinking. He's probably already dead."

Despite the cold way he spoke the words, Kirihara trembled as he said them, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"I'll say it again, Akaya," Yukimura began quietly, and deathly coldly. "Fuji does not need to hurt himself. He has ME!"

With a last glare at all of them, Yukimura took off toward the main road. He threw a last "Genichirou!" over his shoulder, and trusted that his vice captain would keep anyone from following him. He was going to find Fuji, punish the tensai for worrying him, and then take the fool back to the hospital where he could receive the medical care he needed. 

That idiot. What was he thinking?

*

Tezuka felt a tick begin in his temple. Atobe, he could understand—the guy had an ego the size of Europe—but that Yukimura toted the same self-appraising streak was somewhat of a surprise. Tezuka was beginning to get tired of dealing with such obvious nutcases, and that included Fuji. What the hell was wrong with all of them? Why couldn't they just be normal?

Just as a frustrated sigh slipped past his lips, he heard the exact same sound from nearby. Sanada met his eyes whilst struggling to keep Atobe from chasing after Yukimura. At least Tezuka wasn't the only one who understood that this whole thing was crazy.

"Atobe, get a hold of yourself."

The quiet reprimand from Tezuka finally got through to Atobe who glared at his rival, though his struggling and yelling ceased. He glanced at Sanada and then shook the Rikkaidai vice captain off with dignity. Then, he did something nobody expected: He apologized.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost control over someone so unworthy," he spat, glancing in the direction Yukimura had left.

"Atobe," Sanada growled in warning.

"I won't forgive anyone who damages what belongs to me," Atobe snapped, looking straight into Sanada's eyes. "Yukimura went too far the moment he laid a finger on my Fuji."

Tezuka's eyes drifted to Kirihara. Obviously, Atobe didn't know about that side of things. Well, that was for the better. Tezuka didn't like the things Kirihara had done, either, but he couldn't miss the regret Kirihara was beginning to show. At this point, that had to be enough.

Sanada's expression melted a little. "Atobe," he said. "Come have some tea and calm down. After that, there must be something you can do-"

"I don't intend to waste any more time here," Atobe cut in. "If Fuji can be found, I'll find him before that vindictive creature gets a hold of him."

With that, Atobe stalked off to his waiting limousine. "Coming, Tezuka?" he asked, pausing to glance over his shoulder.

Tezuka considered for a moment, then shook his head. If Atobe could find Fuji in his way, then Tezuka was satisfied with that. He'd leave it in Atobe's hands. They'd be better off searching separately. Besides, Tezuka wanted to talk to Kirihara, and Sanada, too.

"They won't find him," Kirihara muttered, though he was pointedly looking away from Tezuka. "Not until it's too late."

"Um, now that Buchou and the walking ego are gone... Someone care to explain what's going on?" Marui prompted.

"It's complicated," Sanada replied. 

Kirihara snorted.

"Since when does Yukimura have anything to do with Seigaku?" Jackal asked, directing the question to Tezuka.

Sanada once again stepped in. "Yukimura has been seeing Fuji."

"Evidently," Yanagi commented, adjusting his glasses.

Sanada glared at him. "However, it seems as though Fuji's relationships extend beyond our dear captain," the vice captain continued. 

Almost everyone looked immediately at Tezuka, though a couple of sharper glances skipped to Kirihara.

"Don't look at me," the ace snapped. "I just know what's going on is all."

Tezuka didn't feel like calling him on the lie, nor did he feel like explaining himself at all. However, there was one thing he could do. 

He bowed to Rikkaidai. "As captain, I shall take responsibility for Fuji's actions. I apologize for the disturbance he has caused for your team."

"Tezuka."

Sanada gestured with his head for Tezuka to follow him, thus signalling the end of both the confrontation, and of the team's practice.

"Kirihara, if you would join us..." Tezuka prompted.

The ace seemed reluctant, but he followed obediently. He was already too involved not to.

Sanada led Tezuka to an indoor training facility, and from there into a room apparently reserved for coach, captain, and vice captain. There was an assortment of tea and coffee as well as some biscuits and a white board. The vice captain busied himself preparing tea and biscuits while Tezuka seated himself. 

It was difficult not to just rush out and run around blindly searching for Fuji but Tezuka was rational enough to know it would do no good. For the moment, he needed to find out what Sanada knew about the relationship between Fuji and Yukimura. He needed to know where Kirihara stood. It was time to stop hiding in the dark. Only once he had all the information would he be able to do anything about anything. If Fuji could be found, he would be. Then Tezuka would have a chance to put an end to it all.

*

As if he could just stay in Chiba where he was miles away from Fuji, unsure whether the tensai was really okay, or if he was lying like he was so good at. As if he could allow Fuji to cut him out like that. Even if Fuji was fine, even if he would just complicate things by showing up, Saeki had to go to Tokyo. He had to see with his own eyes that Fuji was alright.

He'd waited long enough. He couldn't wait any longer for a phone call that Fuji was released from the hospital. Either Fuji wasn't going to call him, or it was serious enough that he hadn't yet been released. Either way, Saeki was worried.

When he reached the hospital and was told that 'the patient's whereabouts are unknown,' he realized that he had good reason to worry.

*

The difference between Kirihara and everyone else, was that he knew exactly where he stood in Fuji's eyes. He equaled punishment. When Fuji wanted punishment, he made a beeline for Kirihara. There was no emotional attachment—not from Fuji—and not really from Kirihara, either. Yeah, he had some feelings for the stupid masochist, but that was all. There was no relationship. Just some occasional rough sex. Just an acquaintance. Just the kind of thing that had prompted Kirihara to save Fuji's stupid ass and pound the shit out of that scum, Akutsu.

Whatever Fuji had in mind, Kirihara was the last person who had a right to interfere but he knew that Tezuka expected otherwise of him. He expected Kirihara to join them all in running around like headless chickens to find someone who didn't want to be found.

Unfortunately, it was kind of hard to disappoint Tezuka's expectations. He was just that sort of person.

"Like I said," Kirihara sighed, still unable to meet Tezuka's eyes. "It's not hard to figure out what Fuji wants."

"So we find him before that happens," Tezuka replied stubbornly.

Sanada just sat and watched them both silently from the other side of the table.

"Maybe you don't understand," Kirihara began, finally looking Tezuka dead in the eyes. He hadn't figured Tezuka for the naive type, but apparently the captain was only just beginning to learn about the reality that was Fuji, Syusuke. Someone needed to make it clear to him. "When I first got involved with Fuji, he was trying to kill himself. He wasn't messing around, either. It was just pure luck that I stumbled across him. If I hadn't, he'd already be dead—and he probably already is. It doesn't matter how hard those two search for him. It only takes a few moments to slit your wrists or jump off a building. If that's what Fuji wants then the odds of finding and stopping him are pretty much none."

The way Tezuka curled in on himself at the revelation... it was touching, even to Kirihara. It wasn't as easy as he'd have thought to crush Tezuka's hope like that. Somehow, the words seemed to stick a little too long in his throat but reality was reality, and Tezuka was going to have to learn to face it whether Fuji was dead or not. Even if Fuji was somehow found, living and in good enough condition to continue to so, Tezuka had to know that the Fuji he was clinging to didn't exist. There was no ‘Tensai; Fuji, Syusuke.’ That was a myth. Fuji, Syusuke was a messed up being who lived in constant pain and denial. He wasn't going to be saved by some hugs and warm, cuddly, fuzzy words.

"Drink this," Sanada ordered suddenly, pushing a cup of tea at Tezuka. 

Instead, Tezuka swiped the cup from the table, sending it smashing against the whiteboard. He was trembling, his head bowed, his glasses barely hanging on the tip of his nose from which teardrops slowly fell.

"I won't believe that Fuji is dead," he whispered, his throat probably so choked up that that was all the voice he could muster. "I won't acknowledge that this is the real Fuji. The real Fuji is the one I've seen every day since the beginning of middle school. The real Fuji is the one that supports his team and excels at tennis. The real Fuji is the one that smiles no matter what, because that is the Fuji that wants to exist." As he spoke, Tezuka's voice gained in strength and volume. He met Kirihara's eyes, his gaze almost frighteningly confident. "That is the Fuji that I believe in, and that is the Fuji I will welcome to practice every day once he's properly healed. And eventually, that will be the Fuji alone in his room at night, or together with anyone else. That Fuji won't need you, or Yukimura-" he glanced at Sanada. "Or Atobe, or myself," he added. "That Fuji will be able to stand on his own, heal on his own, and survive on his own. I promise."

With that, Tezuka pulled something out of his pocket and tore it into pieces. 

"I've changed my mind," the Seigaku captain suddenly announced. "I don't need to know anymore. It doesn't matter what kind of relationship Fuji has with Yukimura, or anyone else. I don't need to know. It has nothing to do with his future."

And he left, just like that, leaving Kirihara dumbstruck and Sanada glowering thoughtfully at the ripped up paper on the table.


	12. "Looking..."

***  
  
 _“Fuji.”_  
  
 _“Yes?”_  
  
 _“I’m sorry if I was a little hard on you this morning. Would you like to come out for coffee to make up for it? I’ll pay.”_  
  
 _“You don’t need to do that. It was fair punishment.”_  
  
 _“Fuji.”_  
  
 _“Yes?”_  
  
 _“I want to. Take you out for coffee.”_  
  
 _“Okay.”_  
   
 _*_  
  
 _“-When one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught is cutting himself, it is my prerogative to interfere.”_  
  
 _“If-if you forget about it, I’ll-”_  
  
 _“Are you trying to seduce me? Fuji-san, what has gotten into you?”_  
  
 _“If you really want to know, several things have gotten into me. I’m still feeling it!! -And why not seduce you? It’s what everyone wants from me, isn’t it? It’ll be a worthy reward, so you don’t have to worry about getting anything sub-standard-”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“What the hell is this? Is this why you skipped practice for two days? Why you’ve done so in the past?”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“I-I’m fucked up, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know. Don’t worry, I’ll change schools or something. You won’t have to put up with me-”_  
  
 _“Are you completely inane? Do you think I’m that shallow? I don’t want to get rid of you, Fuji. I want to help you! I’m worried.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Why? You have everything! Why would you-?”_  
  
 _“What would you know? I’m just a tensai! I’m good at everything and everyone respects me. So what? My brother hates me, my parents don’t even notice that I’ve been cutting myself for years, I’ve had more lovers than I can count, and not one of them has ever asked anything about me! Everyone always assumes they know everything because as far as they’re concerned, ‘tensai’ is all they care about!”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“Tezuka, Fuji won’t be at practice this afternoon. Something’s happened... He’s in hospital. It seems that he was attacked. Kirihara, Akaya from Rikkaidai has been detained by the police, and Akutsu, Jin also seems to be in hospital."_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Ryuzaki-sensei said Kirihara was detained by the police. Did he do this to you?”_  
  
 _“Kirihara saved my life.”_  
  
 _“Then who? Tell me and I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away with it..._  
 _Damn it, Fuji! Don’t you think I’ve had enough of this for one day? I don’t care about your damned pride, just answer the question!”_  
  
 _“Kirihara already took care of it. From what I hear, Akutsu’s in worse shape than me, although that’s difficult to imagine.”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“Don’t tell me, you’re sleeping with him, too?_  
 _... Forget I asked.”_  
  
 _“I don’t expect you to understand. Actually, I hope you never do.”_  
  
 _“So you are. Sleeping with him.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Tezuka-san, how long are you going to sit there and watch him cry?_  
 _When a friend is crying, you’re supposed to comfort him..._  
 _See? He’s stopped crying,”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“I suppose I can forgive Akaya for skipping school, just this once. It looks like he managed to do something right for a change. Still, Fuji…-san, someone like you should take more care. My team mates won’t always be around to rescue you.”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“Why haven’t you been to visit him?”_  
  
 _“Buchou forbid it, so I won’t.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Tezuka.”_  
  
 _“Did you want something, Atobe?”_  
  
 _“Ore-sama has been refused entry to the hospital. Ore-sama had a little spat… with Rikkaidai’s beloved bitch-queen.”_  
  
 _“I hadn’t heard... And?”_  
  
 _“I want you to give something to Fuji for me.”_  
  
 _“Why should I run your errands for you?”_  
  
 _“Because I—unlike Yukimura—would see Fuji safe, happy, and unhurt. Ore-sama does not approve of mutilation; self inflicted, or otherwise. All you have to do is give Fuji a note.”_  
  
 _“Fine.”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _"While you two are fighting, Fuji is out there, injured, doing god knows what!"_  
  
 _"Che...What? It's not that hard to guess what he's thinking. He's probably already dead."_  
  
 _"I'll say it again, Akaya. Fuji does not need to hurt himself. He has ME!"_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _"I won't believe that Fuji is dead. I won't acknowledge that this is the real Fuji. The real Fuji is the one I've seen every day since the beginning of middle school. The real Fuji is the one that supports his team and excels at tennis. The real Fuji is the one that smiles no matter what, because that is the Fuji that wants to exist. That is the Fuji that I believe in, and that is the Fuji I will welcome to practice everyday once he's properly healed. And eventually, that will be the Fuji alone in his room at night, or together with anyone else. That Fuji won't need you, or Yukimura... or Atobe, or myself. That Fuji will be able to stand on his own, heal on his own, and survive on his own. I promise.”_  
  
 _“I've changed my mind. I don't need to know anymore. It doesn't matter what kind of relationship Fuji has with Yukimura, or anyone else. I don't need to know. It has nothing to do with his future."_  
   
***  
   
Tezuka had never meant anything so wholeheartedly in his life. Frankly, he was fed up with the current angle of the world. He wasn't going to have it turned upside-down again, and that meant no dead Fuji and no more obstructions in his tensai's life. So Tezuka would find Fuji, and he would make sure that the damned tensai understood that things were going to go back to normal whether he liked it or not. tensai's world was going to stay nice and level. And that was that.  
   
Atobe, Yukimura, Kirihara, Akutsu, and anyone else could be damned. Fuji was HIS tensai. Fuji belonged to HIS team. And Fuji was a part of HIS world.  
   
All of a sudden, Tezuka froze, halfway down the street, his face millimeters from a light pole.  
   
Why hadn't he ever realized it before? It wasn't Fuji that needed him... It was Tezuka that needed Fuji. Never in his life had he ever talked to anyone as he had just now to Sanada and Kirihara. Never before had anyone ever worried him so much; because he needed Fuji. If Fuji was gone... Tezuka wasn't sure he'd even be able to play tennis anymore. Fuji was crucial to his world.  
   
Without even stopping to figure out where he was or where he was going, Tezuka began running. He had to find Fuji.  
   
*  
   
Kirihara ignored Sanada's Tezuka-inspired lecture as the vice captain picked up the largest pieces of the cup the Seigaku captain had so unexpectedly shattered. Rather, Kirihara's attention and curiosity were focused on the torn-up envelope on the table. He couldn't resist the temptation to collect up the rather large pieces, pulling out the folded bits of paper inside. Apparently envelopes were not so easy to rip. Once he smoothed out the wrinkles, it was easy to place the pieces back together.  
   
However, he'd barely began perusing the... document before Sanada snatched the pieces out of his hands.  
   
"Kirihara, it's hardly polite to read Tezuka's private letter, even if he discarded it," Sanada scolded, stuffing it into his pocket before returning to his task of mopping up the tea, his rant interrupted.  
   
"What if I said it wasn't Tezuka's." Kirihara replied without the slightest hint of remorse. "What if I said it was Atobe's."  
   
That got Sanada's attention.  
   
"Atobe's?"  
   
"Mhmm... And it's not a letter, either. It's a contract... Signed by Fuji," the Ace offered. He hadn't seen much of the contract, but he'd gathered that much. "Don't you think Yukimura-buchou would be very disappointed if you didn't read and report?" Kirihara suggested.  
   
Aside from slight curiosity, he could hardly care less, but Yukimura would certainly care. Whatever that contract was about, Yukimura would absolutely want to know.  
   
Sanada had slowly straightened from his crouch, his fingers in his pocket, no doubt fingering the contract. His thoughtful expression gave away that he understood perfectly. Well, Kirihara's job was over. Time to leave before Sanada-  
   
"That may be so, but for your insolence, I'll see you run twenty-five laps around the sports ground," the Vice Captain ordered.  
   
Damn.  
   
"…Make that the entire school."  
   
***  
   
 _Fuji suddenly panicked. What had he been thinking? He’d been happy to lead Atobe on. It was fun to have the narcissist peering at him through eyes slightly unfocused by lust. It was fun to have ‘the great Atobe himself’ wanting him so badly he was willing to take public transport, almost jumping Fuji on the bus. It was fun to let Atobe shove him up against the interior of the Fuji residence’s front door and to let himself be kissed desperately and roughly._  
  
 _What wasn’t fun was the moment Fuji realized Atobe meant to fuck him. He’d intended on maybe fooling around a little, playing Master/Slave as they’d flirted about at the book shop. He’d planned on giving Atobe his full attention, and likely the best blowjob the narcissist had ever received, but not intercourse._  
  
 _For one very good reason._  
  
 _“What’s wrong, pet?” Atobe asked, recognizing the sudden shift in Fuji’s mood._  
  
 _Fuji pasted a smile on his face and shook his head. “Nothing… Atobe-sama. I was just wondering if you would allow me to suck on your cock,” Fuji replied, his head slightly bowed by the embarrassing words. It was all he could think of to change the situation._  
  
 _“Then you were wondering out of turn,” Atobe scolded, needing no help in playing his part. “Take off your shirt.”_  
  
 _“No.”_  
  
 _Fuji looked away, wondering how he could communicate that this was not part of the game. He wasn’t being insolent to be punished; he wanted out. Regrettably, he and Atobe hadn’t gotten around to setting a code word._  
  
 _However, Atobe was apparently brighter than he seemed. “Fuji,” he said, taking the tensai’s chin in his hand. “I want to build a relationship with you, based on trust. Do you trust that I won’t hurt you more than you want?”_  
  
 _“No-one,” Fuji replied, meeting Atobe’s eyes squarely, “can promise that.”_  
  
 _“I meant physically, and you know it,” Atobe whispered, his lips close enough almost to brush against Fuji’s._  
  
 _Despite himself, the tensai closed his eyes, a shudder running through his body. He couldn’t deny that Atobe turned him on, or that he wanted what Atobe was offering, but…_  
  
 _He was already in a relationship and he did not plan on sharing that information with the captain of Hyoutei. That in itself undermined the very nature of what Atobe wanted from the very beginning… but that wasn’t the problem._  
  
 _Actually, Fuji didn’t mind playing the infidel and hiding the two lovers from each other. What he was worried about were the results of his relationship with Yukimura—the scars adorning his body._  
  
 _Still, he let Atobe kiss him, and as the touch of the narcissist’s tongue to his own went straight to his cock, he willingly reciprocated, his knees almost weakening. Atobe did have good reason for his unshakeable faith in himself. Among other things, he was the best kisser Fuji had ever encountered._  
  
 _“Fuji, Syusuke,” Atobe whispered. “You are the most beautiful and incredible creature I have ever found. I want you even without these games, without the fetish. If that is what-”_  
  
 _“No,” Fuji cut in, before he could stop himself. He looked away. “I mean… No, I like this, but…”_  
  
 _If Fuji gave Atobe a tiny slither of insight into the messed up inner workings of his mind, would Atobe walk out the door? If Fuji pretended his wounds were self-inflicted—which they very well had been in the past, before Yukimura—then would Atobe still be willing to say that?_  
  
 _“Then take off your shirt.”_  
  
 _Still without looking Atobe in the eyes, Fuji did as he was told and pulled his shirt off over his head, baring his scarred, naked body for Atobe to see._  
  
 _Atobe’s eyes narrowed and he reached out to touch one of the scars before he looked into Fuji’s eyes. Then, he glanced down and noted the scars on Fuji’s wrist, some of which truly were self-inflicted._  
  
 _“Is this what you need to accept yourself?” Atobe asked quietly._  
  
 _Fuji slowly raised his eyes, surprised by the insightful question, though he shouldn’t have been. Insight was Atobe’s specialty, after all._  
  
 _“I guess we’re not a very neatly matched pair,” Fuji replied with a strained smile._  
  
 _He expected Atobe to turn and leave at any moment._  
  
 _Instead, Atobe took a step backwards, folded his arms, and ordered: “Strip.”_  
   
***  
   
"What?" answered a very grouchy Yukimura after the third time Sanada tried to call.  
   
"I know you're busy, Yuki, but believe me, you'll want to hear this," Sanada began.  
   
He had resigned himself to the fact that he'd have to tell Yukimura about this, because if he didn't, when his captain found out about it, he would be in a world of fear and pain. Yes, even Sanada was prudent enough to fear his beloved captain at certain times. The thing was, he didn't want to tell Yukimura because it was going to inspire a rage greater than the captain was already in, and the poor soul that collided with that rage... Sanada shuddered.  
   
"Well? Get on with it," Yukimura prompted, doubtlessly running low on patience. "Has that infuriating gnat left yet?"  
   
"Shortly after you," Sanada replied. "Tezuka left soon after as well. However... He left something behind."  
   
"And...?" Yukimura asked, sounding bored.  
   
"It's a contract. Drawn by Atobe and signed by Fuji… Stating the rules and conditions of their relationship," Sanada explained.  
   
He could practically hear Yukimura's frown. "Why would Tezuka have that?"  
   
That, Sanada had already considered. "I assume Atobe asked him to deliver it to Fuji at the hospital," he replied.  
   
"Right," Yukimura muttered, his mind obviously ticking away already. "Bye."  
   
"Yuki-"  
   
"Genichirou," the captain said suddenly.  
   
"Yes?"  
   
"Burn it."  
   
He hung up.  
   
Sanada sighed. As his captain wished.  
   
***  
   
 _The roses were well in bloom, and incredibly beautiful. Fuji felt like he was in another world. Blooming around him were roses tinted with the blended colors of a sunset. It was like staring at a mosaic depicting the approaching dusk._  
  
 _Very slowly, Fuji walked along, appreciating each beautiful flower that caught his eyes. As he walked, the tinting began to favor the red shade, and he soon came to a thicket of blood red roses that rose up to surround and encompass the little clearing. No doubt this was the most well-tended garden in all of Tokyo. Fuji was amazed that there were so few people about to view the mid-bloom roses. Somehow, this little gem of a public garden seemed to have escaped wide notice so far. It was nice. Peaceful. But sooner or later the beauty of it would become well known and as more and more people came, the value would slowly seep away..._  
  
 _"Lovely aren't they?"_  
  
 _Fuji whirled to find a somewhat familiar face in the little archway._  
  
 _"My father designed this garden. This is my favorite place inside of it," said the Rikkaidai player, Yukimura, Seichi._  
  
 _"Your father is a landscaper?" Fuji asked, tearing his eyes away from the sudden arrival to peruse the roses once more. However, he couldn't help glancing back every so often._  
  
 _"More of a gardener, really. Thanks to that, I've had a passion for flowers since I was a child. What brings you here?" Yukimura asked._  
  
 _"Me? I adore roses, second only to cacti in my opinion," Fuji explained with a smile._  
  
 _"Cacti?" Yukimura asked in surprise, "How can the two even compare?"_  
  
 _Pleased by the reaction, Fuji approached the rival player and gently took the rare blue rose he held. Purposely, he took it by the thorns, sucking in a breath of pain—and pleasure—as they bit into his fingers._  
  
 _"Cacti tend to be sharper," he said, taking the rose in his other hand and lifting his punctured thumb to his lips to suckle._  
  
 _Unexpectedly, Yukimura took his hand and drew it to his soft, pink lips. "Then you should be more careful," he whispered, as his tongue flicked out to lick away the bead of blood on Fuji's thumb before drawing the digit between his lips._  
  
 _"Where's the fun in that?" Fuji asked, even as he pricked another finger to see if it would receive the same treatment._  
   
***  
   
Kirihara couldn't care less. At all. Really. If Fuji died, that was his problem.  
   
But... if he was suicidal, where would he go? There was always the public toilets, a good place to start, but if Fuji was going for effect... Maybe the tensai was planning to jump off Tokyo Tower—now that would be a feat of skill just perfect for Fuji, and wonderfully dramatic... But then, Fuji wasn't the dramatic type. No, he was definitely likely to go for something a little more simple. Forge a script for himself at a drugstore? No, he wouldn't do something that could get someone else in trouble... Maybe the public toilets were the best bet after all. It wouldn't be the first time...  
   
***  
   
 _Fuji could feel himself getting woozy from blood loss. He hadn't started on the other wrist yet. Once he'd managed to painfully drag the pocket knife through the skin of his left wrist, he'd been captivated by the sight of blood welling up and seeping over, not to mention distracted by the pain. However, after staring for a while, he sighed, almost peacefully. Best to hurry it up._  
  
 _He switched the pocket knife into his other hand, trembling as he tried to close his fingers around the handle. Damn, that hurt_ — _and blood flowed over his palm, making it hard to get a good grip._  
  
 _"What the fuck are you doing?"_  
  
 _Damn. He was almost there, too._  
  
 _The knife was snatched out of his hand, and Fuji was dragged out of the stall and propped against the wall. The voice ranting at him sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn't anyone directly related to him, so what did it matter? He lay there limply as the familiar voice took his wrist and began to wrap it in something. He closed his eyes. His vision was kind of blurry and it was getting annoying._  
  
 _"-Oi... Hey! Look at me!"_  
  
 _The voice grabbed his chin, hard, forcing him to open his eyes and acknowledge the face in front of him... Kiri...hara?_  
  
 _"Don't close your eyes. If you sleep I'll kill you."_  
  
 _Fuji just looked up at his 'savior' with hollow eyes. Why couldn't they all just let him be? Yukimura, Atobe... Saeki. Why couldn't they let him go to where he wanted? He didn't deserve them. He was just ruining their lives. They'd realize that sooner or later and then he'd be all alone. Before that happened..._  
  
 _"So what? That's his problem," Kirihara snapped, alerting Fuji to the fact that he'd spoken aloud, at least partially._  
  
 _What had he said aloud? Just how much...? What did it matter? He was going to die anyway._  
  
 _"No, you're not. You haven't lost nearly as much blood as you think. Hell, you didn't even hit the artery... And they call you a tensai?"_  
  
 _Fuji frowned, glancing down at his bandaged wrist. Come to think of it, it really had been more of a trickle than a gush, but Fuji had been too distracted by the pain to really think about it._  
  
 _"Damn it," he muttered._  
  
 _"Yeah, too bad, huh?" Kirihara muttered sarcastically. "Look, I don't care what the fuck you do with your life, just don't go messing up public property that others could be using for more mundane purposes. Like sex," he added, the sound of a moan creeping in from the women's bathroom._  
  
 _Fuji's glazed eyes lit up at the mention of sex, and he slung his non-wounded arm around Kirihara's neck. The knowledge that he'd more or less failed at his suicide attempt brought back a significant amount of lucidity but he was still woozy enough that he wasn't thinking quite as clearly as a tensai should. By the element of surprise, he was able to bring Kirihara down to his level and press their lips together._  
  
 _However, Rikkaidai's Ace gathered his senses soon enough and pushed away._  
  
 _"Try me when you're not bleeding everywhere," he said, before walking away with a last glance back at the wounded tensai._  
  
 _Fuji watched Kirihara go, wondering just what he was supposed to do next? The idiot had walked off with his pocket knife._  
   
***  
   
Saeki was familiar with Fuji's tendencies. Often being the one to clean up the mess, he knew better than anyone else how the tensai thought. Not that it helped. All Saeki knew that the others who were doubtlessly searching for Fuji didn't was that Fuji would definitely not be where they were looking. Maybe Atobe stood a chance of finding Fuji through his various means, but then... Fuji surely knew that, which meant that he would be even harder to find. At least hiding would also make it harder for Fuji to do something drastic.  
   
Was Fuji expecting Saeki to come to Tokyo after all? Would he anticipate Saeki's knowledge of his habits?  
   
Either way, Fuji was probably somewhere completely random that nobody would even consider, no matter how hard they tried. Tokyo was a big place.  
   
But... What if Fuji was to defy their expectations in another way? What if he didn't intend to kill himself, for a change? If that was the case... Where would Fuji go?  
   
Aside from his various boyfriends and his team, neither of which he could approach right now, there were two things in this world that Fuji was attached to. Tennis, and his brother.  
   
St. Rudolf.  
   
There were several tennis courts in the surroundings of the private academy. Perhaps Fuji was there.  
   
***  
   
 _Saeki frowned, his sharp eyesight un-fooled by Fuji's brave front. He had seen the painful spasm in Fuji's wrist as the tensai hit the ball._  
  
 _Throwing down his racket, he skipped over the net and marched straight up to Fuji, tearing off the tensai's sweat band. As expected, there was a large, square band-aid that had been hidden._  
  
 _"Fuji..."_  
  
 _"It's just shallow," Fuji said quietly, avoiding Saeki's eyes. "I just needed to distract myself from... from thinking too much."_  
  
 _"This is the fourth time," Saeki argued as he pulled up the band-aid, ignoring Fuji's wince. "And this one's much deeper."_  
  
 _"Don't look," Fuji whispered. "Please, Saeki. I don't want you to see..."_  
  
 _"Someone has to..." Before he knew it, Fuji was pulled into a tight embrace. "Fuji. I know it's hard for you but you don't have to do this to yourself. Isn't that what I'm here for? I'll help you. I'll distract you. I'll make things better."_  
  
 _"You can't," Fuji whispered, tears that never fell welling in his eyes. "But thank you," he said, pulling away. However, rather than moving out of Saeki's arms, he closed the distance between them once more, pressing his lips to his friend's._  
  
 _Saeki recognized the kiss for what it was and pushed Fuji away. "I said I'm here for you. As a friend. I won't be one of the many temporary distractions you surround yourself with, so don't even try."_  
  
 _"That's not... I just..."_  
  
 _"Shh," Saeki whispered, tucking Fuji's face into his shoulder and softly stroking light brown hair. "I know you didn't mean it like that but that's how it would turn out, and I'm selfish. I love you too much to lose you like that."_  
  
 _"Don't you want me?" Fuji asked bluntly, his voice as uncertain as a child's._  
  
 _"...No," Saeki lied. "You're more than just a body to me. I can live without having that part of you—as long as you don't ever leave me without you in this world."_  
  
 _"I can't promise that," Fuji whispered._  
  
 _"I know," Saeki replied, pressing his lips to the crown of Fuji's head. "But I won't let you go."_  
   
***  
   
Atobe stared out the window of his personal chopper, his chin resting in his hands as the muted sound of the rotors churned through the classical music playing on his headset. Suddenly, the music cut out, replaced by static and then a voice.  
   
"Atobe-sama, section 3B has been cleared. No sign of the target."  
   
Atobe stepped on the pedal beneath his foot without so much as tearing his eyes from the window.  
   
"Keep searching," he ordered simply.  
   
Frankly, he was worried. He knew there was truth behind Kirihara's words and that scared the shit of out him. Worse... No, not worse. Nothing could be worse than losing Fuji to some stupid act of suicide... Or could it? Was Atobe more afraid of Tezuka stealing Fuji from him than he was of Fuji dying?  
   
As if it could be possible! Nobody, certainly not that half-rate excuse for a captain... was going to... have... his Fuji...  
   
So why had Atobe left his contract with Tezuka? In the end, it was because he believed that Tezuka would find Fuji first, no matter how hard Atobe searched, no matter how far his resources extended. There had always been some kind of bond between Fuji and Tezuka that had niggled at Atobe's senses, but until now, he'd been confident that he could overcome it and that Fuji needed no one else but him. Wasn't that why they'd signed a contract in the first place? Atobe intended to remind the tensai of that.  
   
Now he wasn't so sure. Of course Atobe would never give up his property to anyone else—and Fuji was his property. The contract he had signed was proof of that, but... Maybe Atobe was willing to admit that Tezuka could be a better match for the thrice-damned tensai...  
   
But that didn't mean Atobe would relinquish him.  
   
***  
   
 _“Fuji.”_  
  
 _“Yes?”_  
  
 _“I want to take you out for coffee.”_  
  
 _“Okay.”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“What is this about, Fuji? What the hell is this? Is this why you skipped practice for two days? Why you’ve done so in the past?”_  
  
 _“I-"_  
  
 _“Sensei, I apologize for my teammate. As captain, I take responsibility for his actions, and ask that you allow me to deal with this.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Thanks for your help. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer for coffee.”_  
  
 _“You think I’m worried about that now?”_  
  
 _“Of course not. Why should you be? That was before you knew I’m a suicidal, masochistic slut.”_  
  
 _“Insulting yourself isn’t the most effective way to hurt me.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Why are you doing this, Fuji? I don’t understand you at all.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _"I don’t want to get rid of you, Fuji. I want to help you! I’m worried.”_  
  
 _“I don’t need help. I don’t want it. So I’ve tried to kill myself a couple of times… I got along just fine without you. I have my own ways of dealing. I have other people to take care of me, so-”_  
  
 _“You call this taking caring of you? Dealing?”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Oh, like you’ve never been hit on by a teacher, or your parents’ friends. Like the neighborhood gangs haven’t tried to have their way with you.”_  
  
 _“No.”_  
  
 _“I mean, you’re much better looking than I am... You’re smart and athletic, too. Obviously… surely…”_  
  
 _“Fuji, I’m so sorry,”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“I’m sleeping with him. In case you were wondering.”_  
  
 _“Just sleeping with him? Atobe seems to have deeper feelings than that.”_  
  
 _“It’s not like I’m in love with him.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Damn it, Fuji! Don’t you think I’ve had enough of this for one day? I don’t care about your damned pride, just answer the question!”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“Is there anyone else I should know about? How about Yamabuki’s Sengoku, or Tachibana, Kippei? Maybe someone from our own team? ...I’m sorry. That was out of line.”_  
  
 _-_  
  
 _“Fuji, I’m sorry. I’ve treated you badly today, but you’ll have to give me time to adjust.”_  
  
 _“You haven’t. You haven’t treated me badly at all. I’m the one who should apologize. I’ve been trying to drive you away but you’re still sitting here, so now I’m embarrassed. I don’t deserve a friend as forgiving as you, so don’t apologize for reacting to my short comings.”_  
  
 _*_  
  
 _“Saeki, it’s been a long day.”_  
  
 _“What happened?”_  
  
 _“Well, to begin with there was Tezuka’s punishment, and then… Then, he asked me out for coffee.”_  
  
 _“Really? That’s great! Tezuka’s really… he’s a really good guy.”_  
  
 _“He is... Which is why I screwed up so badly.”_  
   
***  
   
Fuji winced as he threw the ball up in the air yet again, and then cried out in pain yet again as he slammed it across the court—out.  
   
Damn it. He couldn't even hit a decent serve with his damned ribs complaining every time he moved!  
   
Trying to ignore the pain, he went to find the ball. It was hard to spot it in the dark but finally he caught sight of it by the temple bell platform. As he bent to pick it up, a whimper slipped from his lips and he fell to his knees.

He didn't stay there for long.  
   
Just one serve.  
   
He just wanted to hit one good serve.  
   
When he'd slipped inside the temple, he hadn't expected to find a tennis court of all things—and there, by the court, was a pile of old rackets and scattered balls. Someone had been practicing there.  
   
Yet Fuji couldn't bring himself to leave. He was too exhausted, so he slid down the stone platform that housed the temple bell and simply sat there in the dirt, staring at the tennis court and wondering if it was really there, or just Fuji's defective mind seeing what it wanted to. He waited. No-one came.  
   
Eventually, he clambered to his feet and made his way over to one of the balls. It was real. So were the rackets. So was the court.  
   
Fuji still had no idea what a court was doing inside a temple, but whatever. A temple was a great place to hide, and if there happened to be a tennis court inside of it, who was he to complain? Maybe tennis was just what he was looking for after all? Maybe the court was there because Fuji wanted it to be. Well fine.  
   
However, no matter how hard he tried, Fuji couldn't overcome the pain of his grinding ribs when he tried to hit the balls. The more he tried, the worse the pain, the worse the injury.  
   
"Fuck!" he screamed up at the sky.  
   
Fuji wasn't one prone to profanities, but there was a time and a place, and this was it... Well, maybe a temple wasn't the place for it, but there wasn't anyone around to hear him, anyway.  
   
Gritting his teeth, Fuji gripped the ball tightly in a fist white with stress. This time, he would not miss even if it killed him.  
   
And there was his answer. What was he worried about? So it hurt a little—okay, a lot—but what was the worst that could happen? It wasn't like he was opposed to dying. Fine. He was going to put everything he had into this last shot.  
   
Standing in the serving position, Fuji closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Even that hurt. His hands, one clenched around the racket, the other around the ball, were trembling. Even his lips were trembling, so he bit down on the lower one to stop it.  
   
He took a moment to envision the perfect serve, the angle of his arms, his legs, the height of his jump, the extension of arm and racket, the height of the ball toss... And then he did it, eyes closed, body screaming. Or was that him screaming?  
   
He didn't need to look to know that the serve had gone in.  
   
But the sound of the ball rebounding on his side of the court and then flying past his head was quite a shock. Sobbing in pain, Fuji fell.  
   
For a moment, he blacked out.  
   
When he regained his senses, there was a hand gently stroking his hair and a soothingly gruff voice muttering to him.  
   
He opened his eyes.  
   
"Tezuka."  
   
"You're an idiot," the monk told him. "And once you're healed, you're going to be running laps for the rest of your life."  
   
"Oh," Fuji murmured. "Good... You’re not Tezuka."  
   
“I should think not.”  
   
“Then you can’t assign me laps.”  
   
“No, but I’m sure Tezuka will.”  
   
Fuji frowned, forcing himself to focus upon the monk whose arms were supporting him. He’d seen this man before, but... where?  
   
Flicking through his memories, Fuji came up with vague glimpses during matches. This monk had been watching their team for some time.  
   
“Who are you?” Fuji asked, using the pain to force away the fogginess that had settled in.  
   
“Just a monk with a tennis hobby,” came the innocent reply.  
   
“No, I’ve seen you..." And then it clicked. Suddenly, Fuji remembered where else he’d seen this man. Years ago. On the front of his father’s newspaper.  
   
“You’re Echizen! I mean, Echizen, Nanjirou!”  
   
“Nachizen? Don’t know a Nachizen, Eijirou.”  
   
Fuji found himself flopping painfully to the ground as the man whistled and walked a few steps away.  
   
“Play me,” Fuji ordered without thinking.  
   
The man laughed.  
   
“Play me,” Fuji repeated, dragging himself to his feet.  
   
“Even a simple monk like me could beat you eyes closed, hands tied right now, boy,” Echizen argued.  
   
Fuji didn’t care. He knew what to do now. If Echizen beat him, he’d kill himself. If he won, he’d face what life he could scrape together and prostrate himself before Tezuka for a second chance.  
   
Well, it would be meaningless if the odds weren’t stacked against him.  
   
Or maybe he wanted there to be no chance of him winning.  
   
Either way…  
   
“Play me,” he insisted, closing his eyes as he stood up straight, taking a moment to block out the pain before his eyes snapped open with steel reserve.


	13. "...For Something."

“Play me,” Fuji insisted as he swayed on his feet, trying to block out the pain.

“No. I will,” came the smooth insistence from Tezuka.

Fuji’s eyes widened as he realized he’d been found. The tensai shook his head in denial. “No.”

“One serve. If you return it, I’ll leave and you can do whatever you want,” Tezuka demanded.

“Those aren’t the conditions,” Fuji argued, swaying weakly as his reserve failed in the face of conversation. “I lose—I end it. That’s what I decided.”

Tezuka shook his head. “I stated my terms first. I’ll play you. I’ll give you the chance to do whatever you want. If you’re so willing to die that you can withstand a return, I’ll give in to your resolve. If you can’t... If your will fails... You let me take you back to the hospital. You promise to let me take care of you.”

“Sounds fair. I’ll referee,” said Echizen, the elder, unceremoniously scrambling up the bell platform.

“How can that be fair?” Fuji complained, brows drawn down in a frown. “He’ll use zero shiki and I can’t possibly-”

“I won’t,” Tezuka said, his voice quiet but piercing in the calm of the evening. “Just one regular serve.”

“How did you find me?” Fuji asked, stalling as he tried to find a way out or to twist the game to his advantage.

Tezuka looked around, his eyes roaming the beautiful, serene temple with its inexplicable tennis court. Well, perhaps not so inexplicable, owing that it was tended by Echizen, Nanjirou himself.

“I didn’t.” Tezuka’s words came so softly and belatedly that Fuji was startled from a pain-induced stupor. “I came here… to pray.”

Fuji couldn’t help it. He laughed. It hurt like the blazes but it lasted longer than he might have thought. “What good would that do, you fool? Words wasted on slabs of wood never saved anyone.”

“Then I propose we stop delaying and turn to action instead. Return this serve and I will let you have your way,” Tezuka said coldly, taking up a service stance.

Fuji scowled. He was flagging. His chances were slim to none. Yet, he had to try. If Tezuka had his way, Fuji would be back in the hospital and under surveillance and from there it would be counseling and rehabilitation and Fuji would be forced to carry on in this cesspit of a world.

“Best of three,” he stated.

Tezuka regarded him for a long moment, then shrugged. “As you wish.”

“Hold up. Just returning one is going to put you in bad shape, kid,” Echizen argued, pitching in with a nonchalant manner that made it seem like this game with Fuji’s life at stake was little more than a beginners practice match. “...Worse shape, anyway. How do you expect to hit a second ball?”

Fuji didn’t answer, he just dragged his feet to the receiving position, swaying slightly. He knew that hitting a second ball would be a trial but he needed one forfeit serve to judge Tezuka’s current strength and his own reaction capabilities.

“Best of three,” Tezuka muttered in warning before he pulled out a graceful serve, perfect in form that sailed effortlessly by Fuji’s frozen form.

A moment later, Fuji’s eyes followed the invisible trail. He closed his eyes and stilled his breath. The monk made a cartoonish sound as he tossed Tezuka a second ball. “Guess I shouldn’t have been worried, huh? I thought this one had enough fight to do himself in by trying.”

Fuji ignored the jibe, slipping into a state of focus—well, more like clawing and crawling his way to the kind of trance-like calm that usually enveloped his tennis. The agony of his ribs made that nigh on impossible but he achieved it.

He heard Tezuka’s movements more than he saw them. The rustle of his shirt, the swish of his feet leaving the sand as he jumped up, body at full stretch. Then there was the swoosh of the racket, the thunk of contact, and the whistle of the ball and Fuji was already there to greet it. His eyes widened in horror as he realized that just connecting wasn’t enough. He jerked, putting his whole body into returning the serve yet the result was still pitiful, barely sailing over the net.

Tezuka was there at the net and Fuji expected the ball to come rocketing back at him but Tezuka’s racket hung limp at his side as the ball bounced shallowly then rolled to a stop in the thin layer of sand. He just stood there and watched as Fuji’s legs gave out and he landed on his backside, breath expelled in a rush as his sight went white, then black.

“We’re even,” Tezuka said calmly, even as Echizen announced the score.

Fuji lay onto his back, panting and staring up at the sky with glazed eyes. He could only see one star of any note. Tokyo was blanketed in too much pollution for the stars to shine through but that one star pulsed in his vision like the flickering flame that was his soul. Would it gutter out completely?

Yet a smile curled the corners of Fuji’s lips. He had made one return. Just one more and he could go in peace. He could do it. He knew he could.

The agony of his ribs at once burned through his flesh and merely buzzed a muted annoyance and with a little effort, he could choose to feel only the latter. He was focused; driven. The pain was so intense he could tune it out like one tunes out the scream of a constant siren assaulting the senses for too long.

He wavered as he slowly climbed to his feet but when he was there, he planted them with single-minded determination. One return was all he needed and if it killed him, then he would get his wish. He had nothing to lose.

In that moment, the thrill of the game overcame the stakes. Fuji always did enjoy playing with a handicap and now he faced one of the best his age group had to offer. He would beat Tezuka in this. He would send that ball hurtling back across the court like a single-minded meteor. He would prevail.

*

Tezuka’s eyes narrowed as he saw the change come over Fuji. Whatever else he may be, Fuji was a warrior on the tennis court. When his passion was stirred it was a daunting thing to face. That passion for tennis, therein lay Fuji’s love for life, now all he needed was to understand that for himself.

That was why Tezuka held back a good half of his strength and speed. That was way he didn’t flinch when the ball came cracking back at him, symbolizing his loss.

He dropped the racket and hastened to where Fuji sprawled face down, clutching at his ribs and moaning. Instead of pulling Fuji against him, he gently slipped his arms around the other boy, providing extra support for the hunched form.

“It hurts so much!” Fuji whimpered—and Tezuka knew he had truly won. “Oh god, Tezuka. It hurts.”

“I know, Fuji. You put everything into that swing and you did it for the game, not for the prize,” He wished there was some relief he could provide but for now, all he could do was hold Fuji across the shoulders and abdomen to take the pressure off his ribs. “You’re going to be ok,” he breathed, almost a prayer.

Fuji panted, half sobbing, his fingers clawing at the sand. “How can I go on?” he asked. “Everything is ruined.”

“Not ruined,” Tezuka murmured, tenderly pressing his forehead into Fuji’s shoulder. “Not beyond repair. Everything has changed but we’ll make it work.”

“You knew I would win,” Fuji gasped out, suddenly surrendering himself into Tezuka’s arms with a whimper.

“I knew you had it in you,” Tezuka agreed.

The tensai laughed though the awful sound was more of a moan. “I can’t die, Tezuka. I thought I wanted to but now I know, I can’t. They need me.”

Tezuka shook his head in denial. “I need you.”

Just then, Echizen, Nanjirou led a squad of paramedics up through the temple gates. It turned out he’d called them when he first realized there was a half-dead youth weakly battering about tennis balls on his property. Moments later, a helicopter sent the trees whipping about as it came to hover directly overhead.

All of the excitement finally got to Fuji who exhaled a tortured breath as he fell limply into Tezuka’s awkward, sheltering embrace.

*

“In light of the fact that this heathen-” Atobe spared a withering glance for his rival, “had ore-sama’s new contract burned, I am willing to further reconsider the terms of our relationship.”

“Perfect. You can draw up a new contract for its absence since I will be claiming Fuji as mine own from now on,” stated a self-righteous Yukimura.

“Ok, that is enough out of you two.” Saeki stepped up between the two arguing captains, for some reason shooting his glare at the silent Tezuka before continuing on. “I have sat back and watched you all ride this train wreck to destruction and it seems pretty obvious to me that there’s only one solution that won’t end in tragedy.” Once more, Saeki turned his eyes on Tezuka, this time with very pointedly raised eyebrows.

“Are you implying that Ore-sama should hand off his most prized possession like a limousine with too much mileage? I think not. Tezuka might indeed prove good for Fuji but it might just be that he hasn’t had a chance to show his vice yet. No-”

“Atobe, would you kindly stop pretending that your intentions are entirely pure?” Yukimura snapped—without actually snapping at all. “That said, I agree with the assessment. No, I don’t think I shall be depositing my beloved in Tezuka’s untried hands any time soon.”

“Is anyone ever going ask me?” Fuji sighed.

He lay abed in his home, his recovery advanced enough and the storm having died down sufficiently to allow this long-delayed gathering. The wounds on his face were almost entirely healed and his ribs now knitting back together. His stay in the hospital had been excruciatingly dull with round-the-clock supervision and a myriad of counselor visits. Thankfully, he had regained enough control to start wrapping that counselor about his little finger and so he found himself home with just one counseling visit scheduled per week.

“No, Fuji. We’re not,” announced Tezuka. The Seigaku captain had barely said two words since the four had gathered at Fuji’s bedside for this all-important meeting. “I know what you want and I am willing to offer a compromise.” He met Fuji’s eyes and there was a clarity there that startled the tensai into waiting out whatever Tezuka had to say. “I was determined to take you under my wing and rehabilitate you. I’m none too impressed with the way you have been treated and I intend to rectify that. However, I now realize that you will never be tamed, not by any one man. That is why I have come to the conclusion that I can share you—but-” he looked up, spearing first Yukimura then Atobe with his gaze. “-Only under the condition that there is to be no more mutilation, abuse, or games.”

“But-”

“You will never get beyond this destructive masochism if you are indulged,” Tezuka said quietly, his eyes now only for Fuji. “I cannot keep you bound to my side at all hours of every day and for that reason, I must consent to share you. Atobe and Yukimura will vow to keep you from harm—to love and to cherish you at all times—and together, we will help you rediscover what it means to be bound to another person. We all love you and I know you love us all and that WILL be enough.”

There were tears in Fuji’s eyes. He didn’t really understand why but they lingered there as he shifted his gaze to Atobe and to Yukimura. When they came to rest on Saeki, the tears spilled over and welled anew at the sheer hope his dear friend now radiated.

He hated to see that hope crushed but even if Atobe might deign to share, Yukimura would never-

“I suppose we can count Akaya, at least, out of this...” Yukimura’s lips curled with distaste, “...agreement. After all, Sanada has been keeping him very busy these days both on the sports field and in bed.”

“This is preposterous,” Atobe blustered but there was no heat in his eyes and his posture belied his agitated denial. “Ore-sama demands two quarters of the time shared.”

Fuji’s jaw would have dropped if he hadn’t been grinding it. How dare they just start deciding things without him! “Are you all insane?” he accused, cutting into further arguments about how his time would be divided.

All four stopped and slowly turned their most disparaging gazes on him. For a moment, Fuji contemplated railing against their united insinuation that he was the crazy one but then thought better of it. They were, of course, right. “Why? Why would any of you do this?”

He meant the question for all but he finished it staring at Tezuka. How could he have dragged the stoic captain so deeply into his world of madness so fast?

“I don’t know you anymore, Syusuke,” Tezuka muttered, his eyes shifting subtly as if trying to read lines of secret text hidden deep within Fuji’s own. “But I want to. If these two are a part of you then I will learn to accept that.”

“Wait, no, only I get to call him Syusuke,” Atobe demanded all of a sudden.

Saeki frowned. “Since when have you ever called him that?” After all, Fuji had recently complained about just that.

Atobe sniffed. “I will start when I like, isn’t that so, Syusuke?”

Fuji tuned out to the argument that followed though his lips curved into a contrite smile at Tezuka who looked like he was developing a nasty headache. _Thank you_ , he mouthed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tezuka replied softly. “I have a feeling this is going to be a very long road.”

Fuji knew that he referred not to the complications of the four-way relationship but to Fuji’s own deep-seated complications. Tezuka meant to change him. Could it be done? Could Fuji change? He didn’t know and he was afraid to find out but... if anyone could help him, it must be Tezuka. Yet somehow Fuji knew that Tezuka alone was not enough. He needed Atobe’s guidance and Yukimura’s manipulation. And Saeki’s acceptance, too. It would be a long road but perhaps, eventually, it would be worth it.

“…don’t see why I should abstain from spreading my wings while—Syusuke—has his every wish,” Yukimura was saying as Fuji’s mind wandered back to the conversa-... Nope, still an argument.

In fact, Tezuka was in it now and his cheeks were blooming with red. “You stay away from my rookie!”

“Oh, he’s yours, is he? Does—Syusuke—know about that?” Yukimura jibed, his expression impassive though Fuji could determine the amusement bubbling beneath the surface.

“What? I’m not... I-”

“What any of you do with Echizen is none of my concern. All I care about is my two quarters... and public holidays. I demand public holidays. Yes, Ore-sama must have Fu-Syusuke on public holidays so that we may-”

“Seigaku has practice on public holidays,” Tezuka refuted woodenly.

“As does Rikkaidai,” Yukimura put in, not to be outdone. “And on Saturdays, which is why I shall have every Sunday. Besides, Syusuke enjoys tending my garden with me and it must be done on Sundays.”

Tears sprang up in Fuji’s eyes and for the first time in a very long while, they were not born of misery, doubt, or fear. As the silent trickle grew into a stream and sobs began to tear loose, his two longest lovers, his newest, and his best friend, all went quiet. The next thing he knew, he was buried under a pile of strong young athletes who wanted nothing more than to comfort him and that just made him cry all the harder.

This moment, right here, with Atobe demanding access to kiss his forehead and Yukimura cuddling his chest, with Saeki patting his thigh and Tezuka blushing as he held Fuji’s hand... this moment was what the sweetest dreams were made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This is the end of Sweet Dreams as it was meant to be. However, for those who are interested in following along with some further episodes from this timeline, there will be a series of omake continuing on from this point at random intervals. Please enjoy!


	14. Omake 1: Kawamura/Akutsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been inspired to write some omake about where the characters end up after the end of the main story. There will be a variety of pairings including some or all of the main quartet, but also a focus on some of the side characters as well. Some will be smutty. Others will be sweet. Basically, these will just come as I fancy. I hope you enjoy them.
> 
> Omake 1: Kawamura/Akutsu

_That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t the plan at all._

_Gently cradling the battered body in his arms, Kawamura began to cry, too. His tears trickled down his face to splash onto Akutsu’s cheeks and mingle with the river of sorrow and regret there._

*

“You know what he did to Fuji-senpai, right?”

Kawamura avoided Echizen’s judgmental gaze with his response. “I’ve heard.”

“We’ve all heard.” The boy paused and assessed. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

“I… believe it,” Kawamura corrected. “I just don’t think he really understands what he did. He’s not evil, he’s just misguided.” It was pointless to say it. No-one else would see it; no-one else had ever seen what he saw in Akutsu. Except for maybe Sengoku… and that shorty.

“What do you need me for, then?” huffed Echizen.

Good question… The truth was that Kawamura simply didn’t want to be alone with Akutsu. He felt too hurt—too betrayed. “I don’t trust myself to face him alone. He’s still recovering.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

Echizen’s cheerful sarcasm meant nothing as long as he accompanied Kawamura to the hospital, so he let it slide and kept his mouth shut except to politely thank his kouhai for humoring him. When they reached the hospital, the nurses were not only surprised that he asked to see Akutsu but also decidedly suspicious. Only when they called Akutsu’s mother to confirm that Kawamura was indeed the childhood friend he claimed to be and received her solid recommendation did they agree to let him visit. She asked to speak with him and he almost refused the phone but that would have been rude.

“Takashi? Thank you so much for being a good friend, as always. Are you sure you want to see him, though? The boy… The one he… He’s on your team, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s a good friend of mine—but he has more support than he can stomach right now. Jin has none. I don’t know if he even deserves it, but if we give up on him, then the consequences are on us.” Belatedly, Kawamura realized how it must sound for him to be lecturing his friend’s mother like that. He blushed viciously. “That is… I just meant that—I mean…”

 

“You are absolutely correct,” said the sad, tired voice on the other end of the line. “Thank you, Takashi. Truly. You’re a good soul.”

*

_She’d said that, hadn’t she? She’d called him a good soul. She’d sent him in there, trusting him and believing in him. In the end, they were birds of a feather, he and Akutsu._

*

“He looks awful.”

Kawamura agreed without question—he just wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Body bruised and battered, and eyes so carefully empty, Akutsu watched them enter but made no motion to acknowledge them. His expression was blank and all-the-more frightening for it.

Maybe he deserved it, but Kawamura couldn’t look on his suffering without sorrow—even when he reminded himself what this bastard had done to Fuji. Both here his friends. Even if… even if one of them didn’t deserve friendship.

Before he knew it, Kawamura was sobbing into his sleeve, swiping at a river of tears that overflowed regardless of his attempts to stifle it. Falling to his knees at the bedside, he could feel both Echizen and Akutsu watching him with what he presumed was a mingling of disgust and pity on both parts. He shouldn’t be wasting his tears on this… rapist. That’s what Akutsu was. He had to accept that word if he was ever to control the turmoil inside of himself.

“Why?” he demanded, hoarsely.

Akutsu shrugged at first. At a growl from Ryouma, he looked at the boy who lingered by the door then turned his cold gaze back on Kawamura.

“He’s a masochist. I’m the opposite. I got carried away.”

Kawamura drew breath to scold Akutsu but the hand he flung out wrapped unconsciously about the racket extended to him, and after that things got a little hazy.

*

_Sobbing against his chest, Akutsu’s fingers clenched and unclenched as he heaved for enough breath to keep crying. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Takashi, I’m sorry… Fuji… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” The torrent continued as Kawamura regained his composure and began to rock Akutsu in his arms—gently so as not to further aggravate injury._

_In the corner lay his racket, with broken strings and a bloody handle. Echizen had probably thought handing him a racket would result in a fiery lecture that would leaving Akutsu’s ears blistered and burning… Instead, he had a vague sensation of having given the fiend a taste of his own medicine and left a certain orifice blistered, burning, and… well… He and Jin wouldn’t be consummating their relationship any time soon._

_Consu…? Just what had Kawamura committed himself to while caught up in the wrathful trance initiated by a solid racket in his hands?_

_“Takashi… When I get out of here… You can do what you want to me. You gotta keep me in line, cause no one else will.”_

_“Ah,” Kawamura agreed, gently smoothing back the springy grey hair he’d always been so fascinated with. “Leave it to me, Jin.”_

*

Echizen almost whistled as he sauntered down the corridor, having fixed the situation to his liking with a good dose of vengeful satisfaction in knowing Akutsu was bound to get his just deserts. “I think they really need some time alone,” he said in an aside to the nurse who had led them to Akutsu’s room. He turned on his most innocent expression and dredged up all the compassion he felt for Fuji-senpai to support the act. “Kawamura sempai is a really good friend… I think. Maybe… more than that. He started crying and they asked me to leave… Could you give them some time? I think Akutsu really needs this, too…”

His work done, he walked out into the blissful sunshine and stretched. One good deed down, he wondered if he had fulfilled his quota for the day and could now go play some solo tennis in peace.


	15. Omake 2: It All Came Together on October the Fourth (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omake 2: Primarily Atobe/Tezuka  
> (Other couplings to follow in Part 2.)
> 
> "Fuji had arranged this, planted the seeds of willingness in him, and then drugged and trussed him up like a life-sized present all tied up in a bow. What did you give the man who had everything and could afford anything else he might desire?
> 
> Tezuka, apparently."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 4th, Atobe's birthday! I've had it in mind to write such a fic for today... but ended up just writing it today instead. lol  
> This will probably be a two-part omake so it may seem a little unbalanced.

Soft lighting refracted off carefully crafted crystal, turning translucence to rainbows in vases and water chalices. Expensive Wedgwood china like lace formed out of snow and decorative tea cups personalized to each of the guests were signs of the utmost hospitality.

Sipping a delicious floral blend of lilac and rosehip from the Queen of Hearts cup he had long been attached to, Atobe surveyed his four companions. To his left, Kabaji. Loyal to a fault, he had usually spent Atobe’s birthday dinners standing at his friend’s side, serving beverages or attending to whatever need may arise. This year, Atobe had spontaneously decided he deserved to take part in the celebration—well, the dinner, at least—and not only because he had decided that the pentagonal obsidian table in the western parlor was the most appropriate match to his aesthetics this evening.

Of course there were multitudes of people who yearned for the honor to celebrate Atobe’s very presence upon the Earth and on past occasions, he had taken on the duty of fulfilling that wish for many of his peers and classmates with grand balls and frivolous outdoor tea parties. This year, however, he had limited his invitations to a select few.

At his right, sat Fuji, serenely dipping one last square of spongy French bread into the melted remains of the delectable praline ice cream that had been a most memorable desert. Atobe could gladly have spent this night with him alone and considered it a very fine birthday, indeed—but any time spent alone with Fuji was a fine occasion. This night called for something special.

It had been Fuji’s subtle suggestion to extend the celebration to encompass the boy sitting to his right in turn. If the crystal shone like rainbows, then sparkling pinpricks of stars reflected off immaculately polished glasses, further complimenting the deep brown eyes of Tezuka Kunimitsu who was contemplating and tracing the artistic ribbons of solidified lace lining his desert plate. While Fuji had grown accustomed to the grandeur of the Atobe household, Tezuka seemed a little out of his depth. It was only to be expected. After all, it wasn’t every day the hard-working middle class was treated to a sojourn in one of the country’s finest households.

And yet, Tezuka conducted himself admirably, further reinforcing Atobe’s anticipation of the unique enjoyment he had chosen for the evening at Fuji’s encouragement. He could not deny a certain intrigue and fascination with Seigaku’s brilliant, talented, and infuriatingly attractive captain. If Atobe were anyone else, he would have been drowning in insecurity at sharing his most beloved Fuji with this rival. He was not anyone else, though, and despite the fact that he had been forced to concede portions of his love to not one, but two other suitors, he was confident in the love and devotion Fuji reserved especially for him.

That was exactly why he was looking forward to this opportunity to expand his own boundaries and include Tezuka—and his spectacular body—in the festivities to come.

“Oh, this blackcurrant tea is delicious!”

The exuberant comment prompted an uncomfortable twitch in Atobe’s eyebrow. He refused to acknowledge the fifth member of the party with so much as a glance, instead dropping his glorious lashes to observe his own descending tea cup to be sure that the frustrated force of his motion caused no harm to his favorite one-of-a-kind set.

Between Kabaji and Tezuka sat a beaming Yukimura. Atobe was fully aware that the Rikkaidai captain’s good humor came solely from his forced inclusion in this event. To Atobe’s dismay, Fuji had twisted his arm into bringing not only Tezuka into the fold, but also the third and final contender for his affections. One might think it was Fuji’s special night, the way he had managed to gather the three boys he most adored like this. It was not, though, and Atobe intended to make that clear. For tonight, Yukimura would have a taste of his own medicine once the Hyoutei captain had had his way with Tezuka—or maybe Tezuka and Fuji as a set. The fun was in letting the details write themselves when the time came.

Turning to his left, Atobe fixed his most warm and grateful expression on his childhood friend and thanked him for spending this evening together with him at the table. “There’s a present for you in your room,” he said, thinking of the present he looked forward to in return when Kabaji read the card attached to it and put the brand new high definition spy camera to good use.

“How generous of you,” commented Yukimura, as if he had a right to pass judgment on anything Atobe may say or do. “I didn’t know it was a custom of the rich to give presents away to the less fortunate on their own birthdays.”

Atobe reined in his ire and stood casually, folding his napkin and smoothing it out atop the shining black surface of the table as he spoke with cool aplomb. “Less fortunate would imply that something in Kabaji’s life is lacking, but as he will tell you himself, he is in fact extremely fortunate to be welcomed as a member of my very own household and inner circle, right Kabaji?” The agreement that followed was not only vehement but also burgeoning with emotion and Atobe felt himself soften in response. “What goes around comes around, or so they say,” he added, extending a hand to Fuji as the tensai rose elegantly. It was a shame he wasn‘t born with a few extra female chromosomes. Instinctively following Atobe’s cues and rarely rebelling out of pride, Fuji would have made a wonderful wife to a future corporate leader.

As Kabaji made his exit, only Yukimura and Tezuka remained seated. The latter had his eyes on Atobe in a manner more speculative and open than the birthday boy had expected. Had Fuji told him of their plans for the night? Or had he cottoned on himself?

“That was a lovely dinner, Atobe,” he said suddenly, in that deep, quiet voice of his that now sent a thrill of interest through Atobe’s nerves. “Am I to presume there is further entertainment planned?”

“Of course! The night is young,” Atobe responded flamboyantly as the unexpected overture kindled his playful spirit. “Shall we retire to the gaming room? I received a lovely box of sherry chocolates earlier that would be well paired with a few rounds of cards—and we haven’t even had cake!”

*

Tezuka shifted experimentally, but didn’t bother to struggle. He could feel the pressure of a variety of silken bindings restricting motion. Currently, they were comfortable enough, but if he struggled they would strain and tighten, causing him unnecessary pain, so he remained relatively still and blinked drowsiness from his vision.

He was on his side and missing his glasses, and so presumed that the blurry lilac expanse that filled half of his vision was made up of bed sheets. The creamy white skin that rippled with gasps of breath and stirring muscle contractions before his eyes most likely belonged to Fuji. When he tilted his head back very slowly and carefully, he was able to confirm that. The blur of bluish purple at the lower edge of his vision, he came to learn, was a very busy Atobe.

Fuji grunted and his belly fluttered prettily as Atobe’s eager cock-sucking and probing fingers brought him off. Licking away the traces of Fuji’s ejaculation like that proverbial cat whose cream wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo, Atobe slid up Fuij’s body, resting his chin against that smooth, sleekly-muscled belly.

“Remind me why I’m doing all the work tonight?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.

“Because you’re a generous millionaire who gives away presents on his own birthday,” Fuji sighed, rather contentedly. “And because I have another present in mind for you—and look, he’s awake.”

The statement confirmed Tezuka’s suspicions. He huffed around his silken bit.

Fuji had hinted, and he hadn’t been at all surprised, that Atobe longed to test the waters of a threesome between them, and Tezuka hadn’t been entirely deterred by the thought. Since coming to know Atobe somewhat better through their mutual lover, he had learned that his expectations of what he had once thought Atobe to be were less accurate than the instincts he had been surprised by after facing the diva through tennis. He loved Fuji—that hadn’t changed and never would—but he could admit that it was understandable the tensai had fallen for this insufferably arrogant but beautiful man with an unexpectedly caring soul.

So he hadn’t resisted the flow. A birthday was an almost justifiable occasion for such an experiment and as he found he wasn’t entirely adverse to it, Tezuka had allowed himself to look forward to it a little.

How naïve of him to forget that the currents in this complicated tangle of relationships were not all as vanilla as the physical manifestations of emotion he himself shared with Fuji. He hadn’t even thought to suspect that the chocolates they had dined on were drugged; not even when they had been used as chips in a poker challenge. Had he considered it, Tezuka should have known the game choice was rigged—for him to win, of course. Nobody could beat him at poker. So he had smugly gorged himself on chocolates as they played on until yawns punctuated his bluffs and the cards grew obscenely blurry for what was still a comparatively early hour.

Had that been around 10pm? What time was it now? And what had happened to Yukimura?

Putting aside his questions, Tezuka tried to decide whether he was angry or willing, and came up with the answer that he was annoyed but tempted. Since his first time with Fuji, he had seen the benefit of his lover’s obvious experience and eagerly endeavored to learn more but he had never considered delving into the realms of BDSM. That territory belonged to Atobe and Yukimura respectively. Tezuka was determined to be the sweet, passionate—loving—lover Fuji needed to heal. He’d come to look at the questionable conduct of Atobe as something akin to surgery; invading the skin in order to resettle things on the inside. In Yukimura’s case it was more like re-breaking a bone so that it could be re-set. But then the damage had to be healed, the sinews and cartilage knit back together. That was Tezuka’s domain.

Yet… to understand how to promote healing, one had to understand the invasive or damaging procedures inflicted in order to achieve it. This was a chance for Tezuka to gain some insight into that darker world Fuji ventured into without him. Granted, he wouldn’t have expected himself to wind up on the receiving end like this. Surely Atobe didn’t intend to… Of course he did.

Just like that, it all came together for Tezuka. Fuji had arranged this, planted the seeds of willingness in him, and then drugged and trussed him up like a life-sized present all tied up in a bow. What did you give the man who had everything and could afford anything else he might desire?

Tezuka, apparently.

*

The fact that he had just cum quite satisfactorily at Atobe’s hands didn’t stop Fuji from feeling a warm tingle throughout his body as he gazed on Tezuka, naked but for his red silk bindings. His captain wore an immolating expression partway between a wrathful glare, strong desire, and the juiciest little hint of uncertainty bordering on fear. Fuji should probably feel guilty for being responsible for that last but something about it made his heart race and his thighs twitch.

He had no notions of defiling Tezuka’s purity. His boyfriend had defiled himself the moment he pried into Fuji’s affairs, and neither of them had regretted it, though Tezuka had never stopped regretting the history of it all. This was quite far beyond his ken, though, and it was obvious in the way he flinched as Atobe’s hands caressed his bared skin yet closed his eyes to veil the lust that flared in them.

If he wasn’t gagged, he’d probably have quite a lot to say about all this, so Fuji had spared him the lies born of pride and self-delusion with a length of silk that wound across his jaw and between his lips, trapping his tongue. He would know if Tezuka truly wanted out. He knew the difference between perceiving a threat as a spicy heat or a destructive inferno.

Thus, even as Tezuka’s hazy gaze promised him some devious form of vengeance, the captain barely struggled or resisted. Fuji lazily rubbed his tingling groin as Tezuka leaned into one touch or shied away from another.

To all intents and purposes, Atobe was like a gleeful child trying to predict the contents of a well-wrapped gift by feeling out its contours and textures. Unlike a child, he applied his tongue and teeth to the task just as avidly, delighting in sharp inhalations through the nose or muffled, throaty moans. Every so often, he would probe beneath rows of silk, stimulating skin that had grown accustomed to the concentrated pressure. Inhaling the heady scent Fuji had always associated with the image of a sturdy oak tree, Atobe nipped at Tezuka’s neck, prompting a distressed sound Fuji interpreted as a shock of lust.

As Atobe descended and flicked out the tip of his tongue to teasingly prod a pert nipple back and forth, Tezuka minutely shook his head, his eyes begging Atobe not to do it. Not that Atobe ever took orders. He clamped the firm bud between his teeth and squeezed just enough pressure into the bite that Tezuka’s muscles stiffened in reaction.

Desperate, Tezuka turned his pleading eyes on Fuji even as Atobe licked and sucked and drew another moan but the tensai just leaned over and kissed first one eyelid then the other. He was well familiar with Atobe’s tactics and knew the dominant part of him would never inflict real hurt.

Yukimura was another story entirely. Fuji would never let his most sadistic lover anywhere near his most innocent. Tezuka would never be able to handle Yukimura’s eager inflictions. While the Rikkaidai captain had vastly cut down on play that involved sharp objects and blood enough to drip, he was still quite liberal with teeth and nails—and that was before he got worked up.

Shivering in vivid reminiscence of the last time Yukimura had been pushed so far he forgot he was supposed to play nice now, Fuji’s eyes flickered up over Tezuka’s body to the figure balanced on the edge of the bay window, bound tightly by curtain cords with a ball gag in his mouth. His eyes blazed with a fury that outstripped Tezuka’s indignity by tens of degrees of heat and flared higher still as Fuji dared to meet his glare without immediately rushing over to free him from his bonds.

Fuji chuckled. This night may be a buffet for Atobe’s vigorous libido but it was a rare treat for Fuji, too. All of his lovers naked and turned on, all in one room—and each of them engaged in new and broadening experiences. Even for Atobe this was a pushing of his limits. Extending his favors to someone besides the boy he had taken under his dominion and come to love came harder to him than others might expect—although Tezuka was somewhat of a lesser hurdle to him than even Atobe had anticipated. What would really be interesting was what he chose to do with the defanged Yukimura at his disposal. Fuji couldn’t wait for that.

*

Fuji was going to die for this.

No. That was too simple and far less excruciating than deserved.

He would force Fuji to kill that pompous bastard Atobe. Something vicious that involved slow, torturous flaying. Something…

In spite of his internal vengeful rampage, Yukimura’s cock was very much in the here and now and it bobbed with interest. Without a single touch to ignite him, he had watched over the whole scene as Tezuka was lovingly bound by a very intent Fuji and then Atobe had snagged Yukimura’s lover from behind and begun playing with his balls. He’d done so while staring challengingly at a half-drugged and immobile Yukimura who could do nothing but watch Fuji’s erection pulse with attention.

The whole show as the two had fooled around, waiting for Tezuka to wake, had Yukimura’s traitorous cock standing at attention. Now, his thighs ached and his groin twitched, making his hard-on leap with enthusiasm as Atobe planted Tezuka face-down on the mattress—still with his ankles and thighs bound together—making sure he was comfortable and could breathe before going to town on the Seigaku captain’s ass.

Damn, but he had a long tongue, and Tezuka’s firm round globes parted for him like butter under a hot knife. For the first time, Yukimura could see Tezuka’s eyes and they were glazed with a lack of control barely tempered that he would never have associated with the stoic captain. The silk protruding from his mouth was crimson with soaked-up saliva and his gaze was unfocused. It seemed he’d finally spotted Yukimura, though, his eyes widening and his eyebrows rising—or that might have something to do with the way his hips jerked as Atobe worked one long, elegant finger inside of him.

So absorbed with the unprecedented show and his own vengeful musings, Yukimura hadn’t even seen Fuji rise and glide over to him. He could hardly fail to notice the tensai’s presence, however, as blessed skin contacted his straining cock and rubbed in circular motions like the tugging of a locked door handle.

Since Fuji hadn’t entirely ignored and forgotten about him, and since the view of Tezuka trembling and moaning with Atobe’s fingers delving and exploring deep within him was admittedly splendid, Yukimura let his fury subside to a simmer and smiled awkwardly around the gag that silenced him. He didn’t need words. Fuji met his eyes and shuddered gratifyingly. He then soaked in the erotic display before him and let go the tension that had caused his muscles to seize, releasing with pitiful gratitude into Fuji’s hand.

*

Atobe was startled to realize how the world had faded away while he explored and then pleasured Tezuka, his fingers working open that tight ass he had referenced on more than one occasion. There was something electric about holding such power over an opponent one knew was capable of matching if not besting one’s strength. It was completely different to the dynamic Atobe enjoyed with Fuji, who was utterly submissive to him in almost all things.

Tezuka was reluctant to give up power but he’d been left without a choice in the matter—well, little choice, anyway. Had the boy reacted with violent rejection, Atobe would have set him free and tried to salvage the situation with a little three-way fondling instead. That would have been an enjoyable pudding. This was an impeccably designed champagne-apple creme brulee seared to mouth-watering perfection.

He judged Tezuka ready when the rival captain’s body was entirely lax under him for several moments before a shudder of need ripped through him, starting from the hips. A long moan accompanied it, and suddenly Atobe needed to hear that rumbling voice.

He slithered up Tezuka’s body, relishing the soft ridges of silk that caressed his bare skin as he moved. Hovering just behind Tezuka’s ear, he took in the image set before them of Fuji deep-throating a violently horny Yukimura who could do nothing but groan and buck.

“He looks a little foolish, don’t you think?” Atobe whispered, chuckling as Tezuka seemed momentarily perplexed. “Obviously not. My, this all has you awfully turned on, doesn’t it? Even watching that sick sadist caught in a web just like one of his own has your hips writhing. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” Planting a slow, soft kiss near Tezuka’s vertebrae, Atobe slid one hand down his current partner’s body and applied pressure to the graceful curve of one muscular hip. “No getting yourself off, now. That’s my job.” He leaned in to nibble Tezuka’s earlobe between his teeth and then sucked it briefly. “Still, I think he looks foolish. Flailing around like that, all bound up with nothing to do with that pent-up rage but leer and growl like an animal… We can skip that part, right? You and I? This isn’t about pride or ownership… it’s a one-time exception to be mutually enjoyed. If you promise not to rebel, I’ll take off that gag and you can tell me exactly what feels good. Deal? Roll your hips if you agree.” After only a moment’s delay, Tezuka rolled his hips in a circular pattern, up into Atobe’s bracing hand and back down again. “That’s what I thought,” Atobe hummed.

Fuij’s knots were perfectly tight but miraculously easy to untangle. The ribbons fell loose, and Atobe traced Tezuka’s lips then slipped his finger between them, snagging the gag and pulling it free. Slick with spit as it was, he dropped it into a little red pile on the floor beside the bed.

Curious as to what Tezuka’s first words would be, he waited, but the stoic captain refrained from speech. Perhaps he was waiting for a little more comfort. Obligingly, Atobe rolled Tezuka’s bound body so that the boy stared up at him, all porcelain skin, red silk, and soothing green hair feathered about his relaxed, upturned face.

It was perhaps one of the most startlingly and simply touching moments of his life when Atobe’s rival in the games of both tennis and love broke into a one-sided smirk and said, “Happy birthday.”

This just wouldn’t do. A present wasn’t truly yours until it lay unwrapped before you, revealed in all of its grandeur. Atobe was suddenly struck with the overwhelming need to have Tezuka free and mobile, able to touch him, move with him, and above all to prove that he was indeed Atobe’s tonight—not because he had no choice, but because he wanted to be.

Moving abruptly, Atobe knelt by Tezuka’s ankles. He took the knot there between his fingers and pried it apart. As he moved toward the next binding just below Tezuka’s knees, he stared into those deep eyes that still laughed down at him and let his hands feel the way. When he freed Tezuka’s thighs, they fell apart so innocently and yet so damned invitingly.

Wordless as his reputation, Tezuka just leveraged his wrists up from the elbow and held out his beautifully decorated forearms for untying. A seam of red down the middle was a maze of knots to be undone and Atobe called upon all of his poise and grace not to rush it. Who knew if he would ever be gifted with such an opportunity again? It was worth savoring.

The moment Tezuka’s arms were released, they fell to his sides with a relieved sigh and he seemed to revel in a tingle of improved blood flow. Atobe set to work on the torso bindings. However, he wasn’t long at it before Tezuka’s fingers began to play over his skin. They were just light caresses but they represented a desire and willingness Atobe simply couldn’t explain his need for.

He loved Fuji, and he loved making love to Fuji whether as an equal companion or as a slave who was his to command. This was different. Something within him trembled in awe of the command Tezuka displayed even as he submitted to Atobe’s lead. It was unnerving, but also thrilling.

Before he knew it, Atobe was snarling and tearing at the last knot, his hands trembling as he failed to undo it, despite the simple configuration. He snapped out of the lustful trance when Tezuka humphed and asked, “Do I have to do it myself?” He reached up and worked the knot free, placing the end of the cord in Atobe’s still hand.

Suddenly suspicious, Atobe slammed his fist down on the mattress beside Tezuka’s head, leaning over him until their faces were only a breath apart. “Why are you so compliant?” he challenged.

At last, Tezuka showed signs of frustration. “Does it matter?” he responded, bringing his arms up around Atobe’s body.

“Yes,” Atobe growled.

It mattered. It wouldn’t change the outcome of what was about to happen—Atobe was going to enjoy his present come hell or high water—but it did matter.

“I don’t agree with all of your methods and choices,” said Tezuka after a resigned sigh. “But I admire you.”

“Of course you do,” Atobe snorted. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why let me have my way with you? Why are you about to let me fuck you senseless? I know this is new for you, so why me?”

A gentle hand meshed its fingers with Tezuka’s, pressing against Atobe’s back and Fuji bent down to speak into his ear. “Because I love you. Because he wants to understand me. Because it’s your birthday and you want him, and I want you to have him.”

A noncommittal grunt was all he was going to get from Tezuka but Fuji’s quiet words rekindled the urgency that had briefly possessed him earlier and next thing he knew, Atobe was battling greedily with Tezuka’s tongue in a lip-scraping kiss that temporarily stole all his breath and left him panting. If his own lips were scratched and raw, Tezuka’s were deliciously plump and swollen and he couldn’t resist dipping down again to draw one into his mouth and caress it with his tongue, sucking lightly.

From there, his body moved of its own volition and he began kissing Tezuka’s neck, caressing his body, and then slipped his hand between the boy’s thighs to rub the inverted bud he had earlier prepped and readied. Ever-helpful, Fuji was there with lubed fingers he slipped between Atobe’s and then pressed inside of Tezuka. He gave it a perfunctory swipe or two and then withdrew, coating his whole hand next to slick up Atobe’s cock.

If he didn’t know better, Atobe would think Fuji was just as eager for this as he was.

Who was he kidding? That was exactly how it was.

Reminded of what a stud he was and what a hot show it would be for Fuji… and for Yukimura for that matter, Atobe was himself again, and ready to pound Tezuka into the mattress with all of the majestic bearing he possessed.

*

Deluded with thoughts of freedom even as he drowned in such sensation as he had never experienced, Tezuka was determined that the moment he was released from the gag he would give Atobe—and Fuji—a blistering such as they had never heard. The moment he was released from these bindings, he would put some distance between himself and his would-be Casanova, and THEN they would see who was in charge, here.

A stranger in his own skin, Tezuka had been just as surprised as Atobe when he conceded his will. He felt an odd sense of calm come over him when his mouth was freed but all of the insults and snarky commentary he had prepared went up in a puff of smoke. He thought carefully about what he really wanted to say and then realized he had been complicit in this from the start. Otherwise, he would have gotten himself out of this situation one way or another.

So when Atobe kindly settled his helpless body comfortably face-up, he studied the handsome boy looming over him and suddenly the words came to him. “Happy birthday.”

He was rather bemused with his own behavior and puzzled over it as he watched Atobe unravel him in more ways than one. It struck him only when Atobe lost control of himself on that last knot, and he realized that this wasn’t just a game Fuji had set up, or a frivolous substitute for a real present—Fuji had done this because he cared about Atobe and chose to give him something with meaning.

That thought tripped him up and he busied himself with ribbing the Hyoutei captain and ridding himself of the final restraint. He was completely unsuspecting when Atobe demanded an explanation and his mind went blank, without one to give.

Fuji’s words clarified everything, including the epiphany Tezuka had been caught up in before he was distracted from it.

Atobe wanted him. Atobe really wanted him. Atobe really, really wanted him.

When the seed of this desire had been born, or how long it had been growing, Tezuka couldn’t even begin to guess, but right now he could see it in full bloom before him. A moment later, Atobe’s tongue was down his throat and he was swept up in a heavy kiss that clawed little tracks of desire around his groin and left him gasping.

Screw the BDSM implications, screw birthdays and presents; this had just gone to another level. Atobe wanted him, and Tezuka was shocked to discover he wanted Atobe, too—for all of the reasons Fuji had stated and maybe a few more of his own.

After watching Fuji climax—and Yukimura, too—and all of the dirty, shameful things Atobe had been doing to him, this revelation was almost too much for Tezuka. He was so hard it ached and he was past the point of thinking. He wanted to be taken—now. He didn’t care if it hurt, or if he never lived this down. Right now, he needed it.

*

Backing up so as not to miss a moment of the action, Fuji watched in awe as Atobe all-but growled and then tugged Tezuka into position with one efficient motion, He lingered over the Seigaku captain for a long, communicative moment, and then guided his jutting erection between Tezuka’s thighs and stole that last bastion of virginity without hesitation.

Their embrace said it all; Tezuka’s head cradled protectively in Atobe’s arm, their eyes locked as Tezuka’s fingers clenched on Atobe’s taut biceps. This was a match that had been a long time in coming—ever since another kind of match when they had faced each other down with a similar primal grit to the current display.

Caught off guard by the passion he had unknowingly awoke, Fuji pressed his back against Yukimura, seeking what support the immobilized sadist could give. He wasn’t jealous, nor afraid he would lose either of his lovers, just taken aback. Awe was a powerful emotion—almost as powerful as Atobe’s pumping thighs as he nailed Tezuka thrust after driving thrust.

For all the rough sex Fuji had engaged in, he’d never seen or felt anything like this. A drop of dread momentarily rippled through him as he remembered Akutsu and the assault that had battered and broken him, but this wasn’t that by a long shot. For one, this was consensual, and for another, the exertion of force was a give-and-take like magnets slammed together and then pried apart through some trick of polarity.

Tezuka’s moans were completely different from the affectations of pleasure he seemed to consciously remind himself to voice when he made love to Fuji. He was out of control, rigid and writhing as Atobe struck his pleasure center and tore sounds from Tezuka that Fuji hadn’t imagined he could make.

Before he knew what he was doing, Fuji was pressed flush against Yukimura’s exposed body, rubbing his ass purposefully against the hardness that slid up and down his crevice. He reached behind them both to the wooden edge of the bay window and braced, shifting until he was sure the positioning was perfect, and then Yukimura slid home with a little help from Fuji’s backward thrust.

His vision wavered and he let out a soft breath of a groan, so stirred by the vigorous coupling before him that he was already on the edge of release. For a moment, he wondered who would finish first, but he didn’t kid himself. Those two didn’t have the incredibly erotic visual stimulation he and Yukimura were being treated to, and they both had the stamina of… of something really sturdy, resilient, and way sexier than anything Fuji’s short-circuiting brain could dredge up.

Awkward as it was, Yukimura managed to find a shallow thrust that was salvaged by sheer luck of angle and Fuji held onto the wood behind them, putting his own hips to work as they bucked towards a short but gratifying mutual orgasm a full minute before Tezuka shouted and seized up in a series of convulsions. As if in sympathy, Atobe’s thrusts degraded into uncontrolled jerks until he crumpled spent over a still-shuddering Tezuka.

*

It was inconceivable that Atobe had surpassed the limits of his considerable stamina but there was really no other explanation for it when he crawled back to consciousness to find himself being licked all over by a horny, restless tensai. He passed a hand over his eyes, bringing it away sweaty—unless that sweat had already coated his palm.

Damn. Had that really just happened?

“I thought you’d never come to,” Fuji complained, happily diving in for a kiss Atobe wasn’t ready for.

Ready or not, he never turned down a kiss from Fuji, and he might have gotten a little carried away as his sexy little lover writhed all over him and tried to suck his tongue dry. One wry note of a suppressed chuckle reached Atobe’s ears and he pried his eyes open a moment before Fuji backed off, looking up at an irritatingly conscious and composed Tezuka.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Fuji’s been waiting very patiently for the cake,” he said.

Following the line of Tezuka’s glance, Atobe became aware of an ever-more furious Yukimura devilishly smothered in a messy coating of cream, sponge, mousse, biscuit, and other… toppings (no-doubt left behind by Fuji). He raised his eyebrows. Just how long had he been out?

“You can’t be serious,” he drawled, glancing sideways at the tensai, who was watching avidly for his reaction.

Fuji grinned and produced a large red candle, lighting it and passing it to a bewildered Atobe, then lead them over the human cake that was glaring them all down. The tensai then broke out into an enthusiastic chorus of “Happy birthday.”

Atobe had the impression that Fuji had an agenda all of his own for what was about to happen next.


	16. Omake 2: It All Came Together on October the Fourth (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yukimura finally gets some action... from Atobe's birthday candle? Not a metaphor...  
> Atobe/Yukimura (toys), Tezuka/Atobe

With a cheeky grin, Fuji raised a long candle of medium thickness and a silver-gilt lighter from the trolley upon which Kabaji had not long ago delivered a perfectly in-tact, non-humanoid cake—the very same one that was now all over Yukimura.

Damn him. Not only was this humiliating, it was uncouth, too. Why was Fuji doing this? Did he secretly harbor hatred for Yukimura despite his own insistence that their S&M play was of his own choosing?

Studying the boy that had captured his affections in a cage far more constricting that the cords binding his wrists, Yukimura reassessed, putting emotion-based reaction aside. There was something more to this.

First, he had worked subtly but purposefully to provoke that carnal display between Atobe and Tezuka. That even Fuji had been stunned by the ferocity of it was immaterial. He had seen the potential for it and ruthlessly encouraged it.

The result was… He was studying the wrong person.

The results were in Tezuka and Atobe. If Yukimura could identify them, he would learn the secret in time for… what? That was the issue.

First, he turned his eyes on Tezuka. What was different? He was moving awkwardly, as to be expected after a drilling like that, and his first time on bottom, too, if Yukimura understood correctly. However, there was also a confidence in his motions that hadn’t been there earlier tonight. In this mansion that was a new environment and the territory of a rival, and then stripped to his skin, tied up, and molested… Well, it wasn’t all that odd that he had shown signs of hesitance and discomfort. But those were gone now.

Instead of showing fear or anger towards Atobe… he was mirroring the narcissist’s confident nature, moving in step with him, and even exhibiting a predatory gleam in his eyes that shouldn’t have been there and wouldn’t have been an hour ago. A shift of the gaze to Atobe and the lit candle in his hand and it clicked.

Fuji was bringing them together; not just for a sexual fling, either. He was transforming them each into something that could accept the others. To do that… Yukimura would be required to pay penitence for his presumed abusive sins so that Atobe—and perhaps even Tezuka, now that something in him had awoken—could put their grievances to rest.

Damn Fuji!

Yukimura was not a doll to be toyed with! He wasn’t going to stand here docilely while-

Fuji began to sing. “Happy birthday to you♪Happy birthday to you♪ Happy birthday dear Atobe-sama~♪ Happy birthday to you♪”

Staring deliberately into Yukimura’s eyes, Atobe smirked and unbuckled the ball-gag that had instilled a pain in Yukimura’s jaw and cramped up his lips.

“I’m going to kill you,” Yukimura said immediately.

As Fuji scooped up what was once cake from Yukimura’s shoulder and smeared it on his lips, the buffoonish, pampered, rich prick of a diva leaned in and licked it off. When he slipped his tongue in for a kiss, Yukimura made to bite it, but Atobe’s instincts were the real deal, and he darted back with an amused snicker. Instead, he bent over and licked a trail along the line of Yukimura’s collar bone, making a noise of approval for the taste.

“I’ll drain you dry and water my garden with your blood,” he swore.

“It would be an awful shame to waste such tasty peach mousse,” Atobe commented, then dropped lower to suck a bit of sponge and biscuit between his lips. “Delicious. You should try some, Tezuka.”

Realizing that his threats fell on ears not only deaf but also irrevocably stupid, Yukimura resolved to conduct himself as arrogantly as possible for one hanging from curtain cords and slathered in cake. He didn’t flinch, struggle, or comment as he was licked and nibbled by Arch-enemy #1.

Despite his new-found sexual deviance, the Seigaku captain—Arch-enemy #2—eyed him warily. A light touch from Fuji, and he found his resolve.

Oh, what the hell. “Go ahead and take a nice, good bite,” Yukimura urged.

He really, really hadn’t expected the straight-laced, Don’t-Hurt-Fuji-or-Else, stick-in-the-mud pretty-boy to actually take him up on that. A lapping of cream and then a bite to the nipple took them all by surprise. Apparently Tezuka had learned from Atobe’s teachings that not all pain was punishment.

Yukimura wished that theory would apply when, having cleared a patch of ribs of all its cakings, Atobe tilted the candle and dripped hot, burning wax onto his skin. Thrashing, Yukimura instinctively struggled against his bonds but the best he could do was to swing back until his knees hit the wood of the bay window. Thwarted, he slumped, but recovered in moments.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, glaring darkly at Atobe from behind strands of hair that had fallen over his sweat-slicked cheeks. “Don’t you fu-ahhh!”

Another fall of molten candle trickled over the nipple Tezuka had just finished kissing and clearing of cream and mousse. Yukimura trembled and hissed until Fuji lightly scratched his skin, peeling the dried wax free and relieving the immediate burn.

The after-effect felt strangely pleasant, like the tingle of hot spice in curry, or medicinal patches on sore muscles. Weirdly, he didn’t hate it.

The next wax dripping still burned like hell—more painful than Yukimura’s short memory had prepared him for—but the pain faded to something more desirable soon after the wax was scraped away. It became something Yukimura anticipated and longed for, every time the wax sizzled against his skin.

When it stopped, he licked his lips in the wait for the next round—and waited until he realized in disappointment that the torture was over. At once, his eyes went round with shock. He wasn’t the masochist here. This wasn’t his preference at all. How could he-?

And then Fuji kissed him, deeply and longingly, and he knew at once that the tensai had always wanted him to understand in some little corner of himself what it was like to need what he gave. His arms were around Fuji—stinging with relief—before he even registered that he had been untied.

“Mine,” came a jealous snarl, moments before Fuji was torn away from the desperate kiss, but to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t Fuji who Atobe claimed with that word, it was Yukimura. He closed the distance between them until his admittedly beautiful eyes were all Yukimura could see. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

The next tongue that contacted his was Atobe’s, and it demanded and took—but did not steal. For now, Atobe had what he wanted. Yukimura’s will was worn and frayed from being restrained, molested, humiliated, and more. If it took submission to Atobe to keep his freedom and to be properly included in this rite, he could give that much.

It was a mark of how strongly affected he had been by watching Atobe and Tezuka together that Yukimura desired inclusion at all. He did, though, and as long as he was handing the reins to Atobe for the time being, he could admit that much to himself. He wanted to be part of this; not an outsider looking in and tossed a few scraps when there was excess. By all rights, he should be at the head of the table and settling for any less was an affront to his dignity. Never-the-less...

Atobe was elegant, but he was also fierce and passionate, and lacked the finesse of subtlety. Even so, Yukimura found the mauling agreeable, and let the diva’s hands roam where they might while his lips and tongue were greedily devoured.

Meanwhile, Fuji spoke into his ear.

“Just this once, let us have you. Give Atobe what he wants and show Tezuka you can concede when necessary. Prove you can put me first, above all else.”

He shouldn’t have to prove any such thing! Fuji had disobeyed him, cheated on him, abandoned him, and still Yukimura had accepted this farcical love trapezoid because it meant Fuji’s happiness.

When Atobe released him and he twisted his head to glare his betrayal at that challenge right into Fuji’s eyes, he saw it, though. He did have to prove exactly that. For some reason, Fuji doubted his devotion—perhaps because their relationship was unbalanced. With Tezuka doting on him and Atobe pampering him, Fuji was growing accustomed to such idealized treatment that only Yukimura denied him.

It was insulting. Their relationship was exactly as advertised—exactly what Fuji had always wanted!

Yet perhaps always was a troublesome word. Nothing stayed the same forever. Fuji was changing—because of Tezuka and Atobe, yes, but it was a reality all the same.

Puffing his anger out through his nostrils, Yukimura took a series of slow breaths, molding his thoughts and tailoring his expectations. Fuji was changing and now he needed a show of faith from Yukimura.

All he had to do was prove that he could take as well as he gave.

Placing his nails in a semi-circle upon Atobe’s pectoral muscle, Yumikura looked the birthday boy in the eyes. He wanted to dig in, make a few cuts and scrape a little skin, but he refrained, flattening his fingers and running them down that smooth skin over beautifully toned muscles.

Still looking into Atobe’s eyes, he gently grasped the candle still held in long, elegant fingers, letting his eyes communicating his passivity. Raising the candle to his lips, he blew out the flame, then upended it and swiped his tongue around the base, still staring into Atobe’s eyes, but now with a hint of challenge.

When he was done licking and suckling the red wax, he smiled slowly and dropped the candle into Atobe’s hands. “Happy birthday,” he murmured. “Think you can find a use for that?”

Atobe just swallowed and stared warily after him as Yukimura sashayed to the bed, crawled onto it, and held his wrists behind him, inviting some form of restraint. The only thing more surprising than Atobe’s hesitation, was Tezuka’s cold willingness to snatch up some of the silk that had bound him not long ago and wrap it harshly about Yukimura’s wrists, then push him lightly so that he fell forward, braced with his cheek to the mattress.

*

Atobe shivered.

There he was, holding in his hand a long, ribbed candle as thick as his own penis with Yukimura Seichi—who he often claimed to despise—bent over before him practically asking to be violated. In fact, he _was_ asking; or, rather, taunting.

“This is the least kinky form of penetration I can think of. I assure you anything I have done to Fuji has been far, far worse. You’re not getting squeamish on me, are you?”

His taunting seemed to be getting to Tezuka who was already handling him far more roughly than Atobe would have thought the kind and wise Seigaku captain to be capable of. Meanwhile, Fuji’s grip on Atobe’s shoulder was convulsing periodically; whether to encourage or to restrain, he couldn’t tell.

The thing was, Atobe just wasn’t into this kind of kink. He enjoyed power play—hell, he was born to it—but inflicting pain beyond a nip or a tweak designed to enhance pleasure was just not his thing.

He looked at the candle.

He looked back up at Yukimura’s tiny ass, arched for his convenience.

Then, he noted the semi-erect state of the length dangling between the V of Yukimura’s splayed thighs.

The thought that just maybe Yukimura actually kind of wanted this began to work on his resilience. He approached softly, stopping a stride away and observing the Rikkaidai captain’s body on offer.

For this to go ahead, he had one requirement—a requirement that might be a tall order to fulfill. Yukimura was going that have to give verbal consent.

Calculating his opponent’s weaknesses—or rather, lack there-of—Atobe began to trail the charred wick of the candle over lily-white thighs. He dragged it up one side, detouring along the crevice between thigh muscle and buttocks and tracing the contour of a skinny hip before crossing to the other side.

“For example,” he asked mildly. “Just what have you penetrated Fuji with?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but there was a tiny bud of curiosity there that may as well be unfurled with this opportunity.

His head tilted awkwardly between mattress and shoulder, Yukimura grinned hauntingly. “Well, there was that racket you gave him for Christmas.”

Atobe’s fist clenched on the candle which jerked against the soft round of Yukimura’s left thigh. Tezuka’s response was less controlled. He choked, and gripped Yukimura’s bicep hard enough to bruise, then consciously loosened his grip and removed his hand.

Narrowing his eyes, Atobe signaled Fuji for the lighter. Clearly he wasn’t the only one to whom a little therapeutic revenge was becoming more and more appealing.

“Tezuka, would you be so kind as to prep him for me?” Atobe suggested.

“With pleasure,” Tezuka responded coldly, locating his glasses and a tube of lubricant Atobe had tossed aside earlier while messing around with Fuji.

Another shudder threatened Atobe’s frame at that reaction but Yukimura was watching him from that awkward angle so he suppressed it and took the lighter Fuji handed him, bringing the tip of the candle back to life with a misleadingly innocent orange glow. Seating himself beside Yukimura, he dangled his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned back until their heads were level.

He held the candle out over his victim and tipped it up, letting the wax fall on that unblemished white skin.

“I loathe you.”

“Clearly.”

Another fall of wax and a hissed exhalation followed by a sharp intake and a held breath.

“If Fuji didn’t want it so badly, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Apparently you’re not even man-enough to touch me with an eight-inch candle.”

If the flame was held alarmingly close to Yukimura’s shoulder for an extended period of time as wax dribbled down over his upended neck, Atobe was hardly at fault after a dig like that.

“See, now you’re practically begging me to fuck you with it.”

Yukimura spoke through a grimace painted as a grit-toothed grin.

“If you don’t know how to use it, I could always give you a demonstrAYsshun—fuck!”

Atobe raised his eyebrows as he looked up at Tezuka who was four-fingers deep in Yukimura and looking rather satisfied with himself. Fuji was pressed against his side and breathing slowly and deliberately as he watched both Tezuka’s ministrations and the banter and wax-dripping simultaneously taking place.

Blowing out the candle, Atobe lowered himself to Yukimura’s level and spoke quietly, watching the other’s eyes closely for certainty.

“Do you want me to do this?” he asked. “You’re putting on a brave face but I have no desire to hurt you.”

Yukimura almost seemed angry. His eyes were as volatile as the sea, but also as calm when they changed. “Yes,” he said at last. “ _Because_ you don’t want to hurt me, I want you to do this. For Fuji… and for me. And—ah!” For a moment, Yukimura fell silent, trapping his lower lip between his teeth and squeezing his eyes against the ruthlessly pleasurable finger-fucking he was on the receiving end of. “And for that prick,” he whispered, probably referring to Tezuka.

“Well then, let this be my present to the less fortunate,” Atobe hummed, satisfied with the consent secured and starting to lose his mind a little as he watched Yukimura’s features contort in ecstasy. For a moment, Yukimura was almost attractive—sexy, even—and, just for a moment, Atobe almost admired his conviction.

*

Fuji wouldn’t have been disappointed if Yukimura had backed out, or if Atobe had chosen not to go through with it. Sharing this experience with all of his lovers was something he desired, but not something he needed. Seeing Yukimura made vulnerable—for him, because it could never be _by_ him—was important to him, but not a necessity to their relationship. They could go on as always without this. With this… they might just evolve. All of them.

Taking hold of Tezuka’s wrist and softly dragging his fingers from Yukimura’s body, Fuji kissed his captain, stroking his face and infusing his touch with all the love and tenderness they had come to share. He was a little concerned for Tezuka at the willingness of his participation in this particular phase of the night but he understood it.

Tezuka was a warrior, and just because he chose compassion did not mean by any stretch that he was incapable of violence. He loved Fuji, and he cared greatly for his friends and companions, but this was a taste of how dangerous he could be when pushed beyond defensive protection. This was vengeance against someone who he perceived had hurt Fuji, and it was not so unlike his ruthlessness on the tennis courts, though he would blanch at the comparison.

The gentle kiss restored his temper and kindled doubt his in eyes at his own actions, but Fuji soothed that with understanding and then put the silent dialogue to rest by kissing the slick fingers now clasped in his own. Then, Fuji was sandwiched between Tezuka and Atobe, whose arm snaked around him from behind, and whose mouth caressed the joint between his neck and shoulder. Fuji tilted his head, enjoying the intimacy while still smiling at Tezuka.

Not a flicker of jealousy there—not tonight. This really was everything he had ever dreamed of.

“You’re unconscionable,” Atobe scolded, though his voice was smoldering with lust. “See what you do to us all? Wrapped around your fingers so desperate for your affection that we’ll do anything.”

Fuji gasped, his stomach dropping at the words edged with cruelty. “That’s not what I-”

“Hush,” Atobe breathed, nuzzling his ear. “Not one of us would have it any other way. Don’t ever let me be without you.”

Shaken, and stirred with emotion, Fuji closed his eyes and nodded. When Atobe released him, he slipped out from between the two captains and approached the third, crawling up on the bed beside him. Sliding his fingers under Yukimura’s jaw, he turned his sadistic lover’s face and cushioned it in his palm.

“Are you ok with this?” he asked, afraid that he might really be pushing too far.

“This is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you next week,” Yukimura promised in a silken murmur that only Fuji could possibly make out.

Fuji shivered, but it wasn’t entirely an unpleasant kind of reaction.

“Just this once,” Yukimura continued, “I’ll prove to you what you should already know. I will do anything if it makes you happy. Does this make you happy?”

“Are you turned on?” Fuji asked. “Even a little?”

“Tell either of them and I’ll skin you,” Yukimura breathed, “But yes. I’m horny as hell right now.”

The grin that took over Fuji’s lips had a will of its own. “Then yes, I am happy,” he said.

Thinking that Yukimura looked rather uncomfortable, he began to wriggle his way underneath the Rikkaidai captain’s body and was aided by Tezuka who hauled Yukimura up by the middle and then slowly let him back down on top of Fuji.

Propping Yukimura up by hands held under his chest and shoulder, Fuji looked beyond him and saw Tezuka giving him a strange, bemused look, as if he wasn’t quite sure how they had gotten here; and beyond him was an admirably patient Atobe with his hand hovering on Yukimura’s ass. Fuji felt a giddiness come over him as he nodded to Atobe and then captured Yukimura’s lips, swallowing the groan that signaled that the candle was being put to work.

*

Tezuka watched on with detached fascination as Atobe struggled to work the flat, blunt end of the candle into the hole assigned to it. It wasn’t so much of a hole at first, as an indent, and the shape of the instrument simply didn’t seem compatible. Then, Atobe used his fingers, prizing open the sphincter, wedging the thing in there, and then leveraging it in with his middle-finger like a shoe-horn.

Clearly, it wasn’t going anywhere without some lube. Tezuka made himself useful and applied some, rubbing it around the protruding majority of the candle, then inching his fingers around the widened flesh surrounding it.

The candle wasn’t so wide, so even with the ribbing, it went in quite smoothly after that, though it was slow going. Atobe was meticulous in pursuing pleasure over pain, and he twisted the instrument a little deeper turn-by-turn. When it was a good third of the way in, he paused, and Yukimura’s ruckus changed in tone. His moan turned to one of longing and he pulled away from the mouth-to-mouth with Fuji to run his mouth off a little.

“I’m not made of porcelain!” he complained. “Just screw me already.”

Atobe looked at Tezuka who shrugged.

“He wants me to screw him.” A slow smile spawned across the diva’s lips. “I think I’d prefer he asked me nicely.”

Instead of pistoning the candle in and out, Atobe gave it a twist. He waited a beat, pushed it a cuticle’s width deeper, paused again, and then pulled it back a touch. Yukimura growled and tried to press back into the make-shift dildo but Atobe was barely gripping it so all he achieved was thrusting his ass in the air.

“I think he wants you to ask him nicely,” Tezuka relayed, taking ahold of the red silk binding Yukimura’s wrists to help stabilize him some.

Yukimura seethed, but somehow kept his immediate response leashed. “Please,” he said with agonizing aplomb. “Give me what I deserve.”

“Do you think he deserves a good screw?” Atobe asked Tezuka, his eyes twinkling with a touch more amusement than expected.

Yanking once on the silk bonds, Tezuka sidled closer to Atobe until he was close enough to reach for those perfectly formed lips. “Make him scream,” he said, kissing Atobe and pressing his body against the one he had only just begun to feel familiar with.

As their tongues engaged, Atobe’s wrist began to jerk back and forth and a steady stream of moans, groans, and swearing rose from below. Tezuka was more concerned with what was going on up top, though. After all, tonight was about Atobe. It really _wasn’t_ fair to make the birthday boy do all the work.

Taking Atobe’s other hand and guiding it to the restraints holding Yukimura’s wrists behind his back, Tezuka began to slip around behind Atobe, breaking the kiss as the angle grew too implausible. He ran his hands down the silhouette of that impeccable torso, appreciating the slight curves and defined muscles. He ran one hand up between Atobe’s ass cheeks, enjoying the fidgeting shift that initiated.

“Tezuka?” Atobe asked breathily.

“You just keep on doing what you’re doing,” Tezuka told him, sliding down until his nose bumped against Atobe’s opening—as-yet un-touched tonight. He fumbled for the lube, knocking it off the edge of the bed and grabbing it up from the floor even as he probed with his tongue.

“Say something,” Tezuka urged, as he slathered fresh lube on his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Why don’t you tell us all how magnificent you are?” Tezuka suggested.

He didn’t care what Atobe said, he just wanted to hear the boy’s sexy voice hitch and tremble in response to his touch. Over a background of moans and cries and ragged breathing, Atobe began a soliloquy of his virtues while Tezuka stretched his ass and concentrated on altering the pitch and rhythm of that speech.

Getting rather breathy as he praised himself while plunging, twisting, and rotating the candle in Yukimura’s ass, Atobe seemed to slip into a strange twilight that was mostly dom as he gazed down upon his subject but also partly submissive in recognition of the boy whose orders he was submitting to and who was about to fuck him. If Fuji was putty beneath Yukimura and Yukimura was currently under the control of Atobe, and Atobe was falling prey to Tezuka’s authority; that made Tezuka top dog. He was starting to somewhat comprehend the appeal of this game.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine applying such tactics to Fuji. All he wanted was to love and cherish his boyfriend, but it was a heady rush to exercise control with someone like Atobe, over whom he craved to assert himself—on the tennis courts, of course. This was the other side of the coin to what he had earlier sensed in giving Atobe full control over his body.

Standing, and grounding Atobe’s hips with his palms pressing downward, Tezuka spoke directly into the diva’s ear, nibbling and licking at the cartilage between words. “I must say, I had no idea what I was getting myself into tonight, but I’m glad I took the risk.” He nudged Atobe’s knees with his own, pressing them into the edge of the mattress so that Atobe was braced, even as he continued to exert his own force, driving the candle in and out of Yukimura, though the speed was somewhat erratic due to Tezuka’s actions.

Consumed by the role he had assumed, Tezuka felt the tiniest hint of a sadistic smirk twitch at his lips and he began to hum the tune of happy birthday as he guided his erection to Atobe’s entrance and pressed inside.

*

Atobe almost lost it as the breadth and heat of Tezuka invaded him. His knees might have wobbled if they weren’t digging into the mattress. He was having a hard time keeping his arm moving and he wasn’t sure if he was holding Yukimura up by the wrists or leaning on him for support.

At first, he hadn’t been sure about all this but Tezuka’s encouragement and Yukimura’s steadily growing enthusiasm had won him over. Once the initial penetration was achieved, it wasn’t so different from standard sex—except that he was doing all of the heavy lifting for relatively little reward. Until Tezuka decided to reward him, that was. The reward part was clear because the tune of the birthday song was hummed like the equivalent of a mix-tape as Tezuka’s solid cock scraped into him.

Evidently, Fuji had been a remarkable influence on the former prude, although Atobe was flattered to think he had been rather influential himself tonight. Frankly, it didn’t really matter whose doing this was. Tezuka Kunimitsu was fucking him boldly and dirtily, and he was loving it!

He tried to maintain some kind of rhythm but the movement of his wrist grew more and more sporadic as pleasure blossomed inside of him. He hadn’t been taken for a long time but most would be surprised to learn that he loved it.

As Tezuka slammed home hard, Atobe lost his hold on the candle, gripping his silk handhold in a vice-like fist. He fell forward, his belly rocking against the red lever protruding from Yukimura’s ass.

Stars burst before his eyes at one thrust, and then again. He scrambled for leverage and soon found himself kneeling on the edge of the bed, straddling Yukimura’s thigh. The force of Tezuka’s driving hips, ground him roughly against that pillar and he lost all dignity as that friction collaborated with the bliss radiating from within him. Humping mindlessly, he fumbled until his palm pressed against the end of the candle and shoved against it as Tezuka rocked him.

*

Who came first, might be a good theme for a mystery-themed romance novel but Fuji didn’t much care. In no particular order, he experienced the growling, groaning shudder of Tezuka’s release as pure sound. Atobe’s jerking, uncontrolled orgasm came with an outcry that Fuji witnessed in second-hand sensation. More immediately, he had his fist curled around Yukimura’s leaking cock even as the Rikkaidai captain was flattened against him and slammed to a mindless, moaning wreck as he came hard.

All Fuji knew was that he definitely came last. It was sensory overload. The only direct stimulation was Yukimura’s skin sliding against his arousal but the sounds, sights, and feelings of all three of his lovers losing their minds with rapture hit him belatedly. His belly tightened in a vicious contraction and he jerked three times as his cock erupted in sympathy.

He didn’t care if he got into trouble with all three of his lovers over this. It was worth it. It was so worth it.

Tezuka regained his breath first and shakily removed himself from the top of the pile, but when Yukimura began to gather strength in his legs and abs, in preparation to rise, there was no such leeway. Sprawled over the top of them, Atobe was dead to the world—again.

“I think you broke him,” Fuji gasped, rolling his eyes toward Tezuka who had flopped at the head of the bed and didn’t seem inclined to help excavate them as yet.

Slumping with resignation, Yukimura nuzzled oddly sweetly at Fuji’s neck. “If you ask me, Tezuka’s the one who’s broken,” he slurred.

“Say what you want,” Tezuka drawled, his eyes closed and a hand lingering over his eyes, having run out of gas halfway through swiping away sweat. “At least I don’t have a candle sticking out of my ass.”

It was such an absurd statement coming from Tezuka that Fuji began to giggle—and kept giggling, then chuckling, then chortling, until he was laughing so hard that his contractions toppled Atobe who tumbled to the floor and woke at last. The sound of his shocked landing only made Fuji laugh harder, and soon Tezuka was joining in. Even Yukimura released a chuckle or two, though he kept most semblance of mirth contained in favor of petitioning Atobe to untie him and to “Remove this infernal device.”

He was more amiable when he had his head on a big, soft pillow at the head of the bed and Fuji securely trapped in his arms. If Atobe or Tezuka were inclined to protest, they were charitable about it. Instead, Atobe entwined his fingers with Fuji’s and lined their bodies up but turned his face toward Tezuka upon whose shoulder his head was pillowed.

“Happy birthday, love,” Fuji whispered, squeezing the hand clasping his.

*

Long after three sets of breathing had evened out, Atobe lay awake, still as a statue. Fuji’s hand in his felt comfortable and familiar, but Tezuka’s body pillowing his own was new and unusual. Welcome, though. Even if it was just this once.

Even if he never did manage to coax Tezuka into bed again, or have another chance to show Yukimura who was boss… he’d always have the video.

Thus, Atobe finally drifted off to sleep with a smile, thinking of the private director’s cut that would be Kabaji’s present to him that might just become a must-watch birthday and holiday tradition.


	17. Omake 3: Saeki/Yuuta

Yuuta was confused, furious, and perhaps somewhat relieved when Tezuka called and explained (with a great deal of disconnected and bizarre details) that Syusuke had left the hospital but had been found and was receiving treatment. He was also very, very tired. Trust Syusuke to have a whole gang of boyfriends—all tennis captains, of course—including his heir-to-a-fortune boyfriend searching in a helicopter—and other devoted friends crawling all over the city in fear of finding him dead. He never thought about how his actions affected others. He never thought about how they affected Yuuta!

Too off-balance to even lay eyes on his brother just yet, Yuuta stayed at school rather than trekking out to Tokyo. He could check on his sister tomorrow, and just maybe he would look in on Syusuke. 

It was well dark and nobody was out on the courts so he went straight down there, intending to slam out some of his turmoil on some sturdy tennis balls that would take the blows much better than Syusuke’s stupid face would. Not that he would ever hit his brother. He wasn’t his dad… He wasn’t one of those “uncles” from the kendo club…

He suspected. More than that. He had some solid ideas as to why Syusuke was like this, why he did the things he did. In theory, he knew why sex and juggled relationships and manipulation seemed forgivable to his brother. He suspected that he was lucky to have been spared the same jaded outlook simply because Syusuke had come along first and was determined to protect him.

Or maybe that was arrogant. Maybe it was Syusuke’s pretty features and mild manner that resulted in his victimization. Maybe Yuuta would have been spared anyway. Either way, his anger and misery both at and for his brother remained at a peak.

However, after he picked up his things from the locker room and made for the main court that was best lit by the outdoor lamps around the campus, he stumbled across something that rerouted his issues for a little while. There, huddled and crying on the ground, leaning back against the pole of the net was none other than Saeki.

“What the hell?” Yuuta muttered, rushing over and dropping his equipment. “Saeki!? What are you doing here?”

Gazing up at Yuuta with despair in his eyes, Saeki shook his head. “I thought I had it all figured out. I was sure this was where he’d be.”

“Didn’t anyone call you!? Tezuka found him! He was in some temple or something. He’s ok, Saeki. They’re patching him up. He’ll be fine.”

His face crumpling, Saeki took a gasping breath and shook his head. “Fine? He’s not fine, Yuuta! He’ll never be fine!”

Yuuta growled, dropping to his knees and shaking the charismatic vice captain he had known for most of his life. He’d always looked up to Saeki—almost as much as he had done his brother. More, even, when Saeki had been the voice of reason back when Syusuke started acting strangely.

“Tell me what you know,” he growled. “Tell me everything.”

Saeki’s eyes widened in horror and he shook his head again. “I can’t!”

Yuuta’s eyes narrowed in contrast and his fingertips dug into Saeki’s shoulders. “Why not?”

His eyes closing in pain, Saeki took a deep, shuddering breath. “It wouldn’t be right to betray him like that. There are things he doesn’t want you to know. He doesn’t ever want you to know. I can’t do that to him.”

“Damn it, Saeki!” Yuuta snapped, hanging his head even as his grip tightened even more firmly on the older boy’s flesh. “What about me? Do you think it’s fair that I’m left in the dark to worry about my brother?” he challenged. Looking up into dark eyes that shifted between the dark blue-grey of a stormy sea and deep brown, he finally voiced the words that had lurked in the back of his mind for years. “What about you? Just because Syusuke wants you to keep your mouth shut doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to talk to. Sacrificing all of your strength to save another person from themselves is one of the most soul-crushing you could ever do.”

There was too much emotion in that statement. Yuuta knew he should renounce it before all of his own secrets came out into the open but he just couldn’t. He meant every word and he wanted Saeki to acknowledge the point.

The first time he’d seen Saeki and Syusuke kissing, he’d been grossed out. He was too young to understand what kissing was, let alone that it was something two boys weren’t supposed to do, but he still found it off-putting. Years later, when he grimaced in distaste whenever he heard Syusuke on the phone with this old friend, speaking in teasing tones with sexual subtext, he was fully aware that his distaste came from the fact that he knew Syusuke was stringing Saeki along. In the years in between, he’d accepted his own attraction to the older boy his brother took for granted. Saeki was his first crush, his first wet dream, and his best fantasy.

“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t let him consume your whole life.”

The last reaction Yuuta ever expected was for Saeki to surge forward and capture his lips, prize them apart with a nimble tongue, and keep his mouth too busy for more entreaties for the next minute or so.

*

Saeki had known Syusuke for a long, long time. That meant he had known Yuuta for a long, long time, too. He knew the younger boy well enough, in fact, that when he leaned back and looked into those hard, unforgiving eyes, he knew exactly what the problem was. “That kiss wasn’t about your brother,” he said. “I’m not trying to make a substitute of you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Skepticism was too light a word for the gravity in Yuuta’s expression.

How could he possibly explain without been openly blunt? Saeki let his head fall to one side, opening his expression to whatever scrutiny Yuuta might subject it to. “I could have had Syusuke whenever I wanted,” he reasoned. “I could go to him any time and he would fall into bed with me without a second thought.” It was true, and he hated it. There was no regret in him for not taking that opportunity. “I’m the one who keeps him at arm’s length. We’re friends—and I want it to stay that way.”

“Liar. You love him,” Yuuta argued, with absolutely conviction.

That was true, too. “Yes.”

“You want him.”

“Somewhat.”

“So… Why?”

Saeki raised his hands to Yuuta’s cheeks, wishing he hadn’t just been crying like a little girl. His face was probably blotchy, his eyes rimmed with red. He probably stank of sweat, having hiked around under the sun all day and through the warm evening. He would never find a better time than this, though. “Because you’re right. Because of all the things I could choose to do for my sake instead of his, this is it. This is the one selfish thing I’ve wanted and kept on denying myself. I can be there for him, as a friend. I can give him everything—but I won’t let him break my heart. What I want… What I need… What I’ve been waiting for—is someone stable and warm; who needs my love but not my sacrifice.”

“Are you saying you would-”

“Choose you. Over him.”

Yuuta looked completely shell-shocked. “I didn’t think you even saw me… Hidden. In his shadow.”

Soft, short hair moved appealingly under his fingers as his hands circled around Yuuta’s head. “I’ve always seen you, Yuuta,” he promised. “I just didn’t believe, until now, that I deserved to take you away from him. Or myself.”

“I really want to believe you,” Yuuta sighed, closing his eyes as if trying to hold onto a lie that would dissipate if he faced the real world.

“Good, because I really want you to believe me.”

How was it that their kisses could be so rife with chemistry so suddenly? Saeki’s lips and tongue were light rays off light clearing the sky of Yuuta’s overshadowed world. Before he knew it, he was on his back on the surface of the court, staring up into eyes more brown that grey—deep, and warm, and loyal.

Syusuke was an idiot if he thought any one of a hundred lays could be half as meaningful as one committed hiss from Saeki Kojirou. His loss. Yuuta wasn’t giving this up for the world.

He hesitated to bring up his brother after such a wonderful kiss and with so much yet to be spoken of between them, but he didn’t think Saeki would mind. “Come with me, tomorrow?” he quietly pleaded. “Don’t… let me get angry. I know it won’t help.”

“I will. I’ll be there for both of you… and we’ll tell him.”

“What exactly will we tell him?”

Saeki grinned. “That Syusuke and I are gonna be brothers-in-law,” he teased.

Blushing, Yuuta was too mute to reply, so he pulled his dream-come-true boyfriend down for another kiss instead.


	18. Omake 4: Tezuka/Fuji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka rescued Fuji from himself and joined the happy little menagerie of lovers surrounding the tensai but there's still a big hurdle the two of them need to surmount: Tezuka's virginity.

The Friday before Fuji was scheduled to return to school, Tezuka took the last period off to pick him up. After most of the students had cleared out, they entered the classroom where Mr. Morioka was praising a second-year student for a piece of extra-curricular writing he'd been asked to check. They were prepared to wait patiently but the teacher wrapped things up quickly when he saw them.  
  
"Tezuka-san... Fuji-san. You look well."  
  
If Mr. Morioka seemed nervous, it was understandable. He had plenty of reason to be wary.  
  
Tezuka stepped aside to indicate that he was merely a bystander. "Fuji," he prompted.  
  
Without hesitation, Fuji fell into a deep bow.  
  
"Please forgive me," he said simply.  
  
"Fuji-san... Of course." There was a slight smile to the teacher's lips for a moment—perhaps in appreciation of a wayward youth reformed—but then it fell and his features took on a sadness. "When I was informed... Fuji-san—Fuji-kun. I'm sorry for what you went through. The class has missed you very much. Kikumaru-kun in particular. We all look forward to your return."  
  
Fear sparked in Fuji's eyes at the mention of his classmates. "Do they know?" he gasped. "Does everyone know?"  
  
"No!" the teacher assured him. "Certain members of the faculty were informed according to procedure but to the rest of the school you were hospitalized after an accident."  
  
"I see." Calm returned to Fuji's eyes and he bowed once more.  
  
"Anyway, an extended absence due to injury is hardly anything new for the the tennis club," Mr. Morioka suggested, though the joke was tinged with a dab of concern for that very fact, which many considered rather odd to begin with.  
  
"Thank you," Fuji said quietly, ignoring the attempted levity. "For-"  
  
"I promised your captain here that I wouldn't say a word. Whether that was the right..."  
  
Fuji shook his head, still bent over, and several tears fell to the ground with audible splashes, coaxing Mr. Morioka to silence.  
  
"Thank you for what you did and said—what you didn't do. Thank you for listening to Tezuka and giving me a chance. Thank you for showing me I don't have to be what others make of me."  
  
"I'm glad you are seeing things more positively, Fuji-kun. You can come to me if you need to. To talk. But I think you already have all the support you need."  
  
Moving to Fuji's side, Tezuka bent into an equally steep bow. "I thank you as well."  
  
The next stop was the tennis courts, where practice was already underway. That didn't stop Kikumaru from running out of a practice match and hurtling toward Fuji. Tezuka panicked at the mere thought of impact and stepped between them, catching a full-force acrobat missile to the chest.  
  
"Fujiko!"  
  
For another second, Kikumaru struggled. Then, he suddenly hid his face in Tezuka's restraining embrace. He went still.  
  
Disturbed and at a loss, Tezuka shot an SOS to his vice captain who was approaching more sedately. Oishi clapped a hand to his partner's back, allowing Tezuka to disengage.  
  
"I'm ok, Tezuka. I can handle a hug," Fuji quietly scolded.  
  
"Not at that velocity," Tezuka retorted, adjusting his glasses and turning to address the remainder of the team. As he looked out at them, quiet descended. Raised rackets dropped limply to sides and motion came to a halt. "Some teams play only to win," Tezuka stated, projecting his voice across the courts. "But this team is more than that," he asserted. "We support each other. When one of us is hurt or struggling, we band together and divide the burden. That's the team I am proud to be captain of. That's the team I am glad to announce Fuji has returned to. Starting Monday, practice will resume as usual. Today, our tensai needs to rebuild his stamina, so we all run laps beside him. Go."  
  
The unexpected turn wrung simultaneous groans from everyone, but a few looked thoughtful—Inui included. What better way to forestall questions and rumors than to keep everyone out of breath? If the whole team was united in disgruntlement toward Tezuka's logic, they would be distracted from speculation. Most importantly, they would be united in their hardship with Fuji sharing it right alongside them. Or so Inui theorized.  
  
*  
  
Meanwhile, while Inui's brain crunched the data like the advanced machine it was, Fuji had his hands full with a Kikumaru who was trying to snuggle right inside his shirt. He couldn't help laughing. It was just such cat-like behavior.  
  
"I'm fine, Eiji. You know Tezuka. He's just being overly cautious." His arms tightened of their own volition and for a moment, he took solace in the warm bundle holding onto him for dear life. "I'm sorry I made you worry," he whispered. "I won't do that again. Tezuka will make sure of that."  
  
"You're going to tell me everything!" Kikumaru announced with surprising anger, even with drops of moisture clinging to his lashes. He swiped at them. "The real story. Every detail."  
  
"Eiji, I-"  
  
"Come on. I'll help you stretch before we start running."  
  
"Anything to delay running laps,"  
  
"That... and I wanna see for myself if you're up to it."  
  
"And if I'm not?"  
  
"Then Tezuka had better look out!"  
  
Laughing, Fuji followed his exuberant friend to a patch of grass where he could sit down and stretch out. One by one, the regulars passed by with words of welcome, congratulations on his recovery, and an inquiry or two. Soon, they were jogging by on another lap.  
  
Fuji was stiffer than he had realized and grateful for Kikumaru's careful assistance, but soon Tezuka came along and sent the acrobat on his way, taking over. He crouched behind and pressed lightly on Fuji's back. "Take it easy," he murmured.  
  
"I'm f-"  
  
"Just be careful. I want you back in fighting condition without any setbacks,” Tezuka murmured, his hands sliding naturally to Fuji’s waist and lingering there innocently.  
  
It was that innocence that bothered Fuji. When was Tezuka going to start taking him seriously? They weren’t children play-acting as a couple. Or were they?  
  
"I should have known it would be tennis that worried you,” he grunted, bringing his legs in so he could clamber to his feet.  
  
Before he could, Tezuka applied a little more pressure to the hold on his hips and leaned a little closer to say under his breath, "And when you're back on track... I believe I owe you a coffee date.” He then got up himself and offered Fuji a hand, benevolently accepted. "Go on, then—and pace yourself."  
  
*  
  
During their long-awaited coffee date, Fuji found himself talking a great deal about his other relationships—telling Tezuka everything he had previously failed to. There were things Tezuka clearly didn’t really want to know. There were also things that he needed to, whether he liked it or not, so Fuji told him everything.  
  
In turn, Tezuka talked about his feelings for Fuji—both those from before he really knew Fuji, and since that first shock in the classroom. He talked about his fear and confusion and the conviction that eventually brought them together. He talked about his hesitation in light of Atobe’s obvious and unexpected devotion. He talked about his realization that he was the right one for Fuji—the only sane and suitor, for one thing.  
  
He also explained how he had come to accept both Atobe and even the more vicious Yukimura in the periphery. He didn't like it. He never would. But all Fuji needed was his acceptance.  
  
No, it wasn't need. With or without that acceptance, Fuji would not leave his two prior lovers—he depended on them, and they even more on him.  He wanted Tezuka's acceptance, and he was pitifully grateful for it.  
  
"This isn't what I imagined us discussing," Tezuka said at last, with a quirk to his lips for his lost naivety. He tilted his tea cup (because apparently he was a health-concious green tea advocate even on a coffee date) and searched within it for the answer to some un-uttered question. If it had ever held any answers, it was empty now. He reached for the small pot by his left wrist.  
  
"What did you imagine?" Fuji asked, identifying his chance to nudge their date toward it's next logical stage of evolution.  
  
Tezuka turned a wider smirk on him, full of adorable self-deprecation. "Tennis, mostly," he confessed.  
  
Fuji smirked back, suddenly struck by visions of Tezuka muttering dirty talk like, "You love it when I serve it hard, don't you?" and "Counter this thrust!" More likely, he would resort to pillow talk about coming matches and opponents as soon as they both lay panting in the afterglow. "Fuji! Yes! Fuji! Ahhh! ...What do you think? Could Oishi find a way to handle Sanada's FuuRinKaZan if they somehow clashed in a doubles match?"  
  
So taken with the satirical fantasy was he that Fuji almost missed Tezuka's question.  
  
"I don't really know what conversation on a date should entail. What would you like to talk about?"  
  
Fuji's amusement turned warm and he felt a bit stupid and sappy when he gazed with moony eyes at Tezuka's handsome face and said, "Tennis, mostly."  
  
*  
  
A month later, Tezuka's parents were away at an onsen for the long weekend, but Tezuka remained at home, bound by his duty as team captain. He didn't seem to mind, although his nervousness at being alone in his house with Fuji was clear. No way was Fuji letting this opportunity slip. He was a shark and there was blood in the water.  
  
"I know you think about it," he muttered, his lips a breath away from Tezuka's, his hands wound in the loose cotton of a predictably plain polo shirt.  
  
"Of course I do," Tezuka agreed, barely hanging on to what threads remained of his composure. He neither wrapped his arms around Fuji in compliance nor disengaged in rejection. It was as if he thought the shark would back off if he simply stared it down.  
  
Fuji did no such thing, but he was also determined to provoke Tezuka into making a move. "So what's holding you back?"  
  
Now Tezuka wrapped one hand over both of Fuji's fists and gently removed his fingers from their tight clutch on his clothing. "I don't think it's in your best interests."  
  
"You don't...!?" Fuji was so shocked, he was repelled away from his quarry, circling angrily until he faced Tezuka once more. He wished his eyes could spit sparks to properly convey what he thought of that excuse. "Tezuka... You know there's no hesitation, right? With Keigo and Seiichi?"  
  
"I... I know."  
  
"Then you know I'm already-"  
  
"I don't want to treat you the same way they do." There was desperation in his eyes, but that wasn’t all.  
  
Fuji’s heart broke just a little. Just a tiny little fracture at the pointy bit at the bottom. It was barely perceptible. "You don't have to," he promised, full of compassion in a strange twist of fate, because he could see that Tezuka was hurting for reasons he hadn’t even begun to anticipate. "You can be gentle-"  
  
Tezuka shook his head. "That's not what I mean. It's just... It doesn't all have to be about sex,” he reasoned. "You have them for that. You don't need-"  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I want you?”  
  
The words were out before Fuji could reroute his brain.  
  
Tezuka looked like a puppy who had finally caught his tail and couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t seem to disengage it from its source. "...Fuji?"  
  
"I don't need to have sex with you. I get laid plenty as it is," Fuji said more heatedly than strictly necessary. "But I want to... Kunimitsu, I want to share that experience with you." Fuji closed in again, not touching his boyfriend but clearly projecting how much he desired to. "I want to learn what turns you on and how your body reacts to mine," he whispered, "and what noises you make when you're overwhelmed,” he breathed. "And I want you to know that about me, too," he finished, looking up into Tezuka’s eyes with all the vulnerability he dared project before his boyfriend got the urge to wrap him in plastic and store him on a shelf for safe-keeping.  
  
"You will. Someday," Tezuka promised, somehow managing both to beg and to assert all at once. "It doesn't have to be today."  
  
Fuji drew his trump card. "You're scared."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
The shark's jaws gaped open, showing all those glistening, pointy, blood-stained teeth as sharp as needles. “No, you are. It's because of them, isn't it? They're experienced and they know all my buttons... You know you can’t compete with them in that department."  
  
"It's not a competition," Tezuka responded in a strained tone that only gave the shark a thrill of pleasure in the hunt.  
  
"Isn't it?" Fuji asked in a deceptively mild tone. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't think about how you can make me happier than they do…" Their bodies were so close he could feel Tezuka’s body heat and he craved it to warm his own cold-blooded skin and bones. "Tell me honestly that you don't want to make me feel things they can't; make me say things and make sounds they can't; make me moan longer, scream louder… Tell me, and mean it."  
  
Tezuka was tense. Fuji could practically feel the minute vibration of his body as he tried to lock every muscle to prevent giving away anything. He was hard, too, just from Fuji’s provocative words. "You're right, but I don't know how," he rasped. "I won't hurt you or dominate you, and I don't know if anything less will be satisfactory enough to keep you with me. I don't have any skill, or-"  
  
Fuji went in for the kill.  
  
"You make me cum all the time."  
  
"...What?"  
  
"You don't have to do anything." The words were almost released on a moan. "It doesn't matter how well laid I am; when I sleep alone at night—even when I don't... I think about you." His body pressed up against Tezuka’s and his arms leisurely crawled about a trim waist, packed with muscle. "I remember how you looked and smelled the last time I saw you... I remember your posture when you serve or when you hit your special shots…" He gazed up at hazel eyes protected by a thin film of glass that made them sparkle prettily. "I think about the moment you take off your glasses before showering... and your naked ass in the shower for that matter…" Without conscious thought, he ground himself against Tezuka’s thigh, his own hip pressing into Tezuka’s significant erection in turn. "Just thinking about you, just looking at you and hearing your voice… You turn me on more than anybody else ever has done." He gasped, his eyelids shuttering, grinding harder against Tezuka and too desperate to admit to any sense of shame. "Why do you think I can keep up with multiple lovers to begin with?" he asked, his gaze burning into Tezuka’s once more. "Because I'm never satisfied. Because I'm surrounded by you day in day out and it drives me crazy. You're my libido personified."  
  
They were straight up dry humping, now, Tezuka clutching Fuji as tightly as he was being held, and Fuji leaning back into that embrace so his crotch became the focal point of contact.  
  
"I can't... live up to that,” Tezuka groaned.  
  
Cracking his eyes open, Fuji straightened a little and released one arm from its desperate hold to touch his fingers to Tezuka’s cheek. “Breathe," he bid. "Speak to me—or don't, whatever you prefer. Touch me." He pressed a chaste kiss to Tezuka’s lips. "Fill me." Another peck. “Move." One last, little kiss. "That's all. That's all you need to do... and you know what?" Halting his hips, Fuji felt frozen in time, so close to the edge of orgasm his balls ached. He stared deep into Tezuka’s eyes and spoke the honest truth. "The thought of guiding you and seeing the look on your face when you're sheathed inside me for the first time... The thought of what it will do to you when you see me get off on your cock for the first time... Inexperience has it's own merits." He trembled. "Shit. I can't talk about this anymore. I'm already on the edge."  
  
Tezuka licked his lips. “On the edge?"  
  
Fuji took a deep breath, willing himself to hold just a little longer. "If you don't get it yet, then I'll show you how much I want you. It's not like it'll take long."  
  
Pressing his body flush to Tezuka's, Fuji cupped in both hands a firm backside that exemplified the results of rigorous training. He crushed his groin more violently into Tezuka's thigh even as he crushed their lips together, and he began to rub and squirm.  
  
The delicious scent of Tezuka's skin and breath made him dizzy. Tezuka's tongue tangled hesitantly with his, supplying a heady taste. The sound of Tezuka's nervous breath fluttered to his ears. His lashes brushed against glass and when he opened his eyes a sliver, he found Tezuka's staring right into them. The hard muscles that caressed his own, lither figure made him tingle and his nipples picked up sparks with every brief movement, while his crotch was in fact on fire.  
  
Just one more bump, one tiny shift of angle, and-  
  
Moaning around Tezuka's tongue, Fuji came hard, panting open-mouthed as a globule of drool slipped down his chin. His face fell to Tezuka's shoulder and his hips continued to writhe until the orgasm abated.  
  
"Please," he begged, whispering breathily into a solid shoulder. "No more delays or excuses. If you want me... there's nothing more to say. Take me."  
  
"I want to, but... I-I don't... know how. One more day. To research and-"  
  
"I swear to god I'm going to kill you if you don't start taking my clothes off," Fuji groaned. "I’ll teach you. I'll teach you everything."  
  
Somewhere in the middle of that threat or the promise, Tezuka’s switch flipped. His ability to resist fizzled out and he gave himself over to the primal urge that has plagued man since the dawn of time. Without another word, he began plucking at the buttons of Fuji’s shirt even before he leaned down into a raw kiss of tongues and teeth. His fingers fumbled and trembled, slid and missed, but button by button, they achieved their goal until Tezuka’s hands slid over Fuji’s shoulders and down his arms together with slightly starch-stiff lilac cotton blend.  
  
Freed of the sleeves, for a little while Fuji hung his arms about Tezuka’s neck and reveled in his triumph. For so long, he’d told himself he didn’t deserve Tezuka—and he’d believed it. Then Tezuka had dismantled that illusion and ever since, Fuji had been waiting… and waiting, and waiting… At last, there was no more resistance. At last, it was Tezuka’s hands, reaching for his flesh; Tezuka’s tongue engaging his own; Tezuka’s lips pressing and pushing; Tezuka’s knee nudging against his groin and encouraging it back to life...  
  
It was what he’d always wanted—but for now, he would remain the aggressor for a little longer. He'd promised to teach Tezuka how to please him and he was eager to do so by example.  
  
Less reluctantly than he expected, Fuji ducked out of the kiss, gazing fondly up at Tezuka as his knees bent and he descended to a kneel. He enjoyed the surprise and innocent hesitation in Tezuka's eyes. His old-fashioned inclination toward purity was utterly charming.  
  
"Do you even masturbate?" he heard himself ask. He then delighted in the glorious blush that instantly rose to Tezuka's cheeks.  
  
"Do you think about me?" he pressed.  
  
Disappointment lurked as Tezuka shook his head, but misinterpretation became clear when he spoke. "There isn't anyone else." His tone might have been tender if he wasn't so tormented by embarrassment.  
  
"Then there's nothing to be ashamed of," Fuji assured him. "Just relax."  
  
There was some awkwardness as Fuji began to unfasten Tezuka's pants and the captain shifted stiffly as if to sit, then changed his mind. Fuji asserted guidance through his touch, bidding Tezuka to wait. When clothes were no longer a hinderance, his hands rested lightly on strong, stocky thighs.  
  
"Do you want to sit down?" he invited.  
  
"I don't..."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"I don't want to see you on your knees."  
  
It was so natural a position to Fuji that he hadn't thought to continue any other way, but there they were, the specters of his various lovers, leering dangerously.  
  
He loved them for it. He wanted them even now. But this was Tezuka's time, Tezuka's moment. Fuji banished the others from his thoughts and felt more clear-headed and focused.  
  
"You've fantasized about this," he stated matter-of-factly. "So how did you see it?"  
  
Tezuka almost refused to answer. Pride tolled in his hesitation. Then, he reached down a hand and drew Fuji to his feet.  
  
"On my bed," he murmured. "Sitting against the headboard."  
  
Taking the feedback to heart, Fuji avoided bending over Tezuka on hands and knees and lay on his stomach, belly to the sheets. It was an entirely knew position and he loved it instantly, watching Tezuka from under his lashes. Did he have any idea how erotic he looked from that angle? The entire length of his body was laid out for Fuji's appreciative perusal, his thighs sandwiching Fuji's slighter frame.  
  
Tezuka put on a brave face to hide his embarrassment at being viewed naked and yearning. Meanwhile, Fuji had to confess to himself that he may have unfairly burdened his boyfriend with impossible expectations. His imagination would have had stoic, strong Tezuka hung like a giant. In reality, he was adorned with a length and girth appropriate to a growing teenage boy. Perhaps a little bigger than average, but smaller than Atobe. Not that Fuji was disappointed, just chagrined at his private sense of surprise.  
  
It was so easy to make a symbol of Tezuka. An exemplary specimen, an impeccable leader, a martyr... Everyone did it.  
  
Fuji would have to remember to keep his eyes on the real Tezuka; to recognize and acknowledge his faults and to keep his merits in perspective. It was important for both of their sakes.  
  
Best he get to exploring in detail the truths of Tezuka's body. Starting with the impressively hard and fully erect length bobbing in front of his nose.  
  
Fuji was coy about it, knowing that an aggressive onslaught would bring about too quick an end to the activity. He licked and nibbled, suckled and kissed... All the while, Tezuka watched, flushed and breathless, and craning his neck needlessly, which he would certainly regret when his muscles eventually registered their protest.  
  
When he came, it was with a monumental groan and a drastic arching that caused Fuji to wonder if his back might not also be in danger of straining. He’d always imagined Tezuka to find release quietly with little indication but a dash of sound and a shifting of eyes and expression. That was the intimate scene he often fantasized about. The reality was… gratifying. That he could wrest so much control from the stoic captain gave Fuji little tingles of happiness.  
  
Witnessing Tezuka get off gave him other kinds of tingles, too. He crawled backward and sat up onto his knees, catching part of his lip in his teeth and releasing it slowly as he watched Tezuka breathe heavily, his face and chest flushed red.  
  
"Let me be clear," Fuji broached, his voice huskier than he'd expected. "There is no happy end to this scenario in which we don't have sex right here and right now."  
  
Tezuka said nothing. Instead, he inched toward Fuji, shifting onto his knees when he couldn't reach lying down. He eased his arms around Fuji's back and bent forward until their lips met. It was hard not to just snatch Tezuka's glasses and tossed them aside when they impeded the deepening of the kiss. Fuji took a calming breath and carefully reached up to take the frames away, staring expectantly into raw irises that were really very lovely viewed from a breath away. The glasses probably ended up on the window sill after that. Fuji couldn't remember, because all he was aware of from that point on was the tongue rubbing deliciously against his own and the suction, the sounds, the warmth...  
  
When did Tezuka get so good at kissing?  
  
It was pretty maddening when the captain broke the spell with a whispered, "What happens next?"  
  
Fuji counseled himself to patience and painted on a smile. "Watch," he said.  
  
He could have encouraged Tezuka to touch him some more, to play with his nipples or taste his skin, but that sort of thing would come naturally in time. Right now, he just wanted Tezuka inside of him, and that meant getting down to business.  
  
He stripped right down, then leaned back and spread his legs, letting them frame his boyfriend. Lying back, he sucked on his fingers, getting them good and wet. Then, he lifted his backside and rubbed the wetness into his entrance.  
  
Tezuka watched, enraptured, and when Fuji's fingers rubbed dry, he haltingly reached out to take Fuji's hand and licked and suckled to renew the moisture himself, then watched once more as a very pleased and turned-on Fuji started to finger himself. He secretly hoped that Tezuka would take over, but his boyfriend simply watched, enjoying the show.  
  
"It would be better if we had an oil or cream, or... something... right?" asked a blushing Tezuka, all of a sudden. Fuji couldn't contain a predatory grin at the shy question. "I... I read..."  
  
"It's fine like this," Fuji assured him, taking pity even though the grin kept popping back when he tried to banish it at the thought of Tezuka studying how to fuck him. "It's really just to make it easier for you to slide in, you know? You won't hurt me. I promise." There was no need to point out that Atobe was bigger or that Yukimura sometimes took him dry. He kept those facts to himself. "But if you want to make sure... you could always poke your tongue in there and wiggle it around a bit."  
  
All he'd intended was to keep that adorable blush fresh across Tezuka's cheeks. On top of that high color, Tezuka looked as if he wanted to adjust his glasses and then realized he wasn't wearing them. Very slowly, eyes trained on Fuji's finger which was idly rubbing circles around his puckered hole, he leaned down.  
  
"You don't have to!" Fuji assured him, not wanting to push his luck. They could work their way up to that kind of... "Ok, yeah, you do. Damn, that's hot," Fuji gasped, his hips wriggling involuntarily as Tezuka surged in and licked a rough, wet swipe over his entrance.  
  
Lying down flat on his back, he stared determinedly up at the ceiling as Tezuka's tongue wormed inside of him, flicked lightly and explored, then delved deeper until a broken rhythm of thrusting developed.  
  
With Yukimura, the struggle for silence was all part of the game. With Atobe, every gasp and purr was a strategic ploy. He didn't want any such restrictions with Tezuka.  
  
For the first time since he lost his virginity, Fuji let himself hum and shudder as he pleased. Before long, he was moaning and whimpering whenever Tezuka's nose bobbed against his balls.  
  
He risked a glance once and almost blew his load at the sight of Tezuka's face buried in his ass. Their teammates would probably drop dead at the mere thought...  
  
Fuji nearly dropped dead trying to forget he looked.  
  
"Stop!" he whimpered. "Stop."  
  
He would explain in a moment, before Tezuka panicked. He just had to catch his breath and hold still for a little while.  
  
But Tezuka didn't panic.  
  
"Sorry, I got carried away," he said, still close but removing himself from any contact with Fuji.  
  
"Don't move. Don't say anything. Just... give me a sec."  
  
His only warning was one husky chuckle before his cock was spurting in Tezuka's mouth and his ass twitching around the first joint of an index finger. He swore as his muscles seized and pins and needles filled the void in his brain.  
  
By the time he came down, Tezuka was leaning over him and kissing the tip of his nose. "It's ok. We don't have to have sex today. We can-"  
  
"The hell we don't," Fuji growled, glaring up at his boyfriend. "You don't get it yet. I don't want you just whem I'm hard. You make me hard because I want you. I could do this all day—but I won't. You have to want me, too, or it will be just meaningless sex. Is any of this getting through to you?"  
  
Tezuka's gaze took on an inordinate amount of caution. "Fuji... I'm not 100 percent sure... but I think you just said you love me."  
  
Was that what he said? He tried to think back over his words but he couldn't remember what had come out of his mouth just moments ago. That wasn't the important question, though. There was a far more important issue at stake. "And how do you feel about that?"  
  
A smile formed slowly and beautifully upon Tezuka's features. It was like watching the sunrise or the formation of a rainbow.  
  
Leaning over Fuji, Tezuka seemed to go in for a kiss but he paused just short of any contact between their lips and said the most wonderful thing Fuji had ever heard.  
  
"Like the world will end if I don't make love to you right now."  
  
"At last, we have an accord," Fuji breathed. "And not a minute too soon."  
  
"Enough talk," Tezuka whispered before he asserted control over Fuij's lips and tongue even as he arranged things to his preference. He rolled them both and pulled Fuij's right thigh up around his left hip, extending his arm beneath them both for balance. His tongue caressed and encouraged Fuji's while his hand rubbed gentle circles over Fuji's hip and backside, fingers occasionally straying up and down his crevice. By the time Tezuka let the kiss end, Fuji was panting and grinding against his thigh, already half-hard again.  
  
He stared into Tezuka's eyes, which were staring calmly back into his own, wondering what he should say. Should he beg? Should he speak some romantic phrase? Should he gently encourage? Eventually, he decided to match Tezuka's silence with his own and tightened the grip of his thigh, rolling his hips to prove how ready he was.  
  
Tezuka remained silent but his lips parted and a little gust of breath greeted Fuji's ears. Then he felt Tezuka's length push up against his backside and nestle between his cheeks. There was a little fumbling. After all, this was something Tezuka had only ever dreamed of before, but Fuji had dreamed of it, too, charming fumbling and all.  
  
He took a slow, deep breath, letting Tezuka see him smile so there would be no cause for alarm. It was a jerky start and he couldn't resist a gasp as the head of Tezuka's cock passed through his entrance passage and drove deeper into him.  
  
He must have closed his eyes because at some point he realized he couldn't see the look of wonder on Tezuka's face and he blinked furiously then widened them so as not to miss a thing. Tezuka was so handsome, especially when he looked just a little overwhelmed. There was no hesitation in his body, though, his hips moving instinctually with Fuji's breath and slighter motions. They were a perfect fit.  
  
"I do love you," Fuji whispered.  
  
Why now? Why were his walls crumbling and his defenses turning to dust in this moment? It was just sex. Sex with Tezuka, yes, but still just...  
  
"I love you, too," Tezuka murmured in return, sliding his hand up Fuji's body to caress his face.  
  
He then exerted his weight, tipping them from their entwined, horizontal balancing act. He still held Fuji at a slight angle but now he was able to thrust deeper and piston his hips with more force. He buried his face in Fuji's neck and gave them both over to the pursuit of pure pleasure for a time.  
  
A whining groan tore from Fuji's throat as his body seized and almost cramped, and he wrapped himself as tightly around Tezuka as he could, bracing for the coming spectacle. The moment he felt Tezuka jerk with an erratic spasm, a cry escaped him and he immediately followed his lover off the precipice and into the throes of ecstasy.  
  
*  
  
Very slowly and cautiously, Tezuka let the tension seep from his body. He eased his hold on Fuji, who he was sure he was part strangling, but didn't seek distance just yet. The closeness of their bodies was symbolic of something else and he wasn't ready to let it go just yet.  
  
He was glad he had finally given in to the constant temptation and more than awed at the reality of just how powerful it was to be with someone he loved. Yet, the physical sensation was eclipsed by the joy in his heart to hear Fuji's earnest confession. He hadn't really quite believed it until he saw the raw, honest truth there in Fuji's eyes, and felt it in every fiber of skin and muscles sliding and pulsing in concert.  
  
For a moment he marveled that he was so lucky to have such a treasure in his arms. A second later, his heart constricted with the thought of how close he had come to losing that treasure. Atobe and Yukimura, even Kirihara and Saeki all flashed in turn through Tezuka's mind and he felt anger, jealousy, and even a sprig of hatred... but then Fuji giggled and all negativity was eradicated from him. He snuggled, sighed, and began to come down from the high of emotions that had coursed through him.  
  
Whatever else anyone had with Fuji, Tezuka had love; pure and genuine. That was all that mattered.  
  
"We should have coffee together more often," he suggested.  
  
"Don't let your guard down. I hear it can be addictive," Fuji hummed insolently.  
  
"There's only one way to find out."


End file.
